n in me, I suppose. My ancestors were a race of
explorers. If I had been able to have a fling in my youth, I might have
been able to settle down, but I went straight from Oxford to the City,
and a longing that is bottled up doesn't diminish, it goes on growing
all the time. When Mr Baron told me the news to-day, I felt--you'll be
horrified at my ingratitude!--as if a halter had been slipped round my
neck."

Mr Gordon shook his head.

"It's a thousand pities that you could not take that trip! If you'd
been my son I'd have packed you off with five pounds in your pocket, to
work your own way round the world. You'd have had enough excitement to
last you for the rest of your life--and danger into the bargain. You'd
be thankful _then_ to settle down to your present life."

"Oh, I'm thankful enough now. It's quite a good life as things go, but
just a bit boring."

Terence kicked his slipper once more.

"Well--what price the hospital ball next week? _That_ won't be boring,
I give you my word. We're having a party to dinner here, and going on
together. If you like to chip in--"

"Terence! Don't be cruel. We really must not add to his boredom!"
cried Delia, smiling, but there was an edge in her smile.

Terence grimaced expressively at Lessing, a grimace which said, "Now
you've done it! She's got her knife into you for that remark!"

Kindly Mrs Gordon sensed the strain in the atmosphere, and said
quickly:

"Do sing something more to us, Delia darling. You had only begun. A
few more of those dear old ballads!"

Delia was like her mother, she never made a fuss, so she rose with a
slow, graceful gesture, seated herself in her old place, and sang one
strain after another with the utmost good humour. The last of all was
that delightful ballad entitled "Phillida flouts me," and this she
delivered with much energy and verve, throwing aside her languid airs to
adopt the very attitude of the damsel of the song.

Lessing loved to hear Delia sing, and to-night he laughed with the rest,
at the pretty by-play of tossing head and curling lips, but he was not
altogether happy in his mind. He remembered the chill of the girl's
voice a few minutes before, as she said: "We mustn't bore him still
more!" and he felt uncomfortable as if it were he himself who was being
flouted.

As he walked down the quiet streets on his way home, the words repeated
themselves in his brain:

"Oh, what a plague is love! I cannot bear