."

"Are you an enemy, Mr. Ledsam?" she asked curiously.

He rose a little abruptly to his feet, ignoring her question. There were
servants hovering in the background.

"Will you walk with me in the gardens?" he begged. "Or may I take you
upon the river?"

She rose to her feet. For a moment she seemed to hesitate.

"The river, I think," she decided. "Will you wait for three minutes
while I get a wrap. You will find some punts moored to the landing-stage
there in the stream. I like the very largest and most comfortable."

Francis strolled to the edge of the stream, and made his choice of
punts. Soon a servant appeared with his arms full of cushions, and a
moment or two later, Margaret herself, wrapped in an ermine cloak. She
smiled a little deprecatingly as she picked her way across the lawn.

"Don't laugh at me for being such a chilly mortal, please," she
enjoined. "And don't be afraid that I am going to propose a long
expedition. I want to go to a little backwater in the next stream."

She settled herself in the stern and they glided down the narrow
thoroughfare. The rose bushes from the garden almost lapped the water
as they passed. Behind, the long low cottage, the deserted dinner-table,
the smooth lawn with its beds of scarlet geraniums and drooping lilac
shrubs in the background, seemed like a scene from fairyland, to attain
a perfection of detail unreal, almost theatrical.

"To the right when you reach the river, please," she directed. "You will
find there is scarcely any current. We turn up the next stream."

There was something almost mysterious, a little impressive, about the
broad expanse of river into which they presently turned. Opposite were
woods and then a sloping lawn. From a house hidden in the distance they
heard the sound of a woman singing. They even caught the murmurs
of applause as she concluded. Then there was silence, only the soft
gurgling of the water cloven by the punt pole. They glided past the
front of the great unlit house, past another strip of woodland, and then
up a narrow stream.

"To the left here," she directed, "and then stop."

They bumped against the bank. The little backwater into which they had
turned seemed to terminate in a bed of lilies whose faint fragrance
almost enveloped them. The trees on either side made a little arch of
darkness.

"Please ship your pole and listen," Margaret said dreamily. "Make
yourself as comfortable as you can. There are plenty of cush