with which the unskilled artificer hides his
joins. Oniton, like herself, was imperfect. Its apple-trees were
stunted, its castle ruinous. It, too, had suffered in the border warfare
between the Anglo-Saxon and the Celt, between things as they are and
as they ought to be. Once more the west was retreating, once again the
orderly stars were dotting the eastern sky. There is certainly no rest
for us on the earth. But there is happiness, and as Margaret descended
the mound on her lover's arm, she felt that she was having her share.

To her annoyance, Mrs. Bast was still in the garden; the husband and
Helen had left her there to finish her meal while they went to engage
rooms. Margaret found this woman repellent. She had felt, when shaking
her hand, an overpowering shame. She remembered the motive of her call
at Wickham Place, and smelt again odours from the abyss--odours the more
disturbing because they were involuntary. For there was no malice in
Jacky. There she sat, a piece of cake in one hand, an empty champagne
glass in the other, doing no harm to anybody.

"She's overtired," Margaret whispered.

"She's something else," said Henry. "This won't do. I can't have her in
my garden in this state."

"Is she--" Margaret hesitated to add "drunk." Now that she was going
to marry him, he had grown particular. He discountenanced risque
conversations now.

Henry went up to the woman. She raised her face, which gleamed in the
twilight like a puff-ball.

"Madam, you will be more comfortable at the hotel," he said sharply.

Jacky replied: "If it isn't Hen!"

"Ne crois pas que le mari lui ressemble," apologised Margaret. "Il est
tout a fait different."

"Henry!" she repeated, quite distinctly.

Mr. Wilcox was much annoyed. "I congratulate you on your proteges," he
remarked.

"Hen, don't go. You do love me, dear, don't you?"

"Bless us, what a person!" sighed Margaret, gathering up her skirts.

Jacky pointed with her cake. "You're a nice boy, you are." She yawned.
"There now, I love you."

"Henry, I am awfully sorry."

"And pray why?" he asked, and looked at her so sternly that she feared
he was ill. He seemed more scandalised than the facts demanded.

"To have brought this down on you."

"Pray don't apologise."

The voice continued.

"Why does she call you 'Hen'?" said Margaret innocently. "Has she ever
seen you before?"

"Seen Hen before!" said Jacky. "Who hasn't seen Hen? He's serving you
like me, my boy