ite of the
growing darkness.

Maidenhead was still close and distinct, and closer and more distinct
was the punt, where Aunt Jeannie handed Lindfield two crimson cushions.
Then in that darkness below the chestnut-tree a match was struck, and he
lit a cigarette, and dropped the still flaming vesta into the Thames.
Then he shifted his position a little, and sat nearer to that other
figure dressed in grey, whose arm was leaning over the side of the punt,
and whose hand just dabbled in the water.

And then Daisy suddenly hid her face in the cushions of the window-seat
and began to sob.

CHAPTER XVI.

Jeannie, as Daisy had heard, had advised that in view of the
approaching storm they should not go far, and it was now about an
hour since she and Tom Lindfield had, after this stipulation, gone
down to the river. They had taken a punt, and pushed out from the
hot, reeking boathouse that smelt strongly of the tar that was
growing soft and viscous on its roof beneath the heat of the day, and
slid down the backwater towards the river. The weeds here wanted
cutting, and they wrapped themselves affectionately round the
punt-pole, and dragged their green slender fingers along the bottom
of the punt as if seeking to delay its passage. Then for a moment
they had found a little coolness as they passed below the chestnut
trees that extended their long boughs three-quarters of the way
across the backwater, and Jeannie had said,--

"Lord Lindfield, you will certainly get very hot if you punt me
up-stream, and we shall probably both get very wet before we get back.
Let us stop here."

He had been by no means unwilling, and they had tied up.

"And sit down," she said; "out of these two thousand cushions I can
spare you a few. There, on the bottom of the boat."

"I didn't suggest stopping," he said. "You mustn't be sarcastic
afterwards over the immense expedition I took you."

"I promise not. I don't think I should ever be sarcastic to you, do you
know? You would only laugh. The point of sarcasm is to give pain."

"And you don't want to give me pain? Hurrah!"

"Ah, I'm not sure that a little pain would not be rather good for
you. I think you have almost too delightful a time. When did you
last not enjoy yourself? And yet I don't know; perhaps you deserve it
all. I am sure you give your friends a delightful time though you do
have one yourself. Poor Daisy! I am afraid she isn't having a good
time this afternoon; she has