marriage; she
thought without pride of herself as she was at present; and she thought
of Hubert.

She had reached the dough-nut course, and also the conclusion that they
were an odd couple but probably most couples were, when the front door
bell sounded, as it always did, through the whole little house.

Helena looked at the clock. Ten minutes to eight! No parcel-post.
What could it be, possibly? Not Hubert back? She felt a quick shame
of the dough-nut.

It was beneath the table safely before Lily entered.

"Please'm," said the maid, "it's Mr. Alison wants to speak to you."

Helena went out into the hall. "Hullo," she said, hoping he had not
expected dinner. "Have you been to the Institute? What was it like?"

"Been," he laughed. "No! It's only ten to eight. This is an
eight-o'clocker, you know. G. K. S. will never stand things at the
ordinary time!"

This was a blow. Helena, not letting herself think of all that she was
missing, had yet fancied that it was safely over. And it had not even
begun... "Oh," was all that she said.

"I went along," Geoffrey Alison proceeded quickly, as though every
instant counted, "because I am a steward so had to be early, and asked
just out of curiosity where you were sitting. They said, so to speak,
you weren't! I knew you both intended coming so I ran across. I've
got two tickets just returned, so if----"

"How very kind of you," said Helena, feeling that she could almost slay
him; "but it wasn't that we couldn't get in. Hubert at the last moment
found that he wasn't free, so we sent our seats back. He suddenly
remembered he was dining out." She tried to make it sound as though
there had not been a tiff.

"Dining out?" repeated Geoffrey Alison, "Well then, you're free to come
along like all the other ones?"

"Oh no, thank you; I don't think I will," said Helena. She had not
forgotten about Mrs. Boyd.

"But you simply _must_," replied the other, pulling out his watch.
"They'll be beginning if we don't make haste. You couldn't miss this
possibly; it's far the best of the whole series. Old Dr. Kenyon, too,
thinks art is a disease and intends asking questions. It will be
tremendous. Come along or you will make us late."

"But I'm not tidy or anything," said Helena. Definite objections are
the first steep steps down from refusal to complaisance.

He recognised this. "So much the better," he cried in prompt triumph.
"Unprepared things are always th