d made a plaything did not trouble him in the
least. All he was conscious of was that she was free. He laughed
quietly, now completely master of himself.

"That will do to go on with," he said; "now let us be sensible, as you
suggest, and have dinner."

The meal was a great success, despite the presence of Forbes, who
hovered about them like a benignant and sympathetic butterfly. Lionel
could hardly help smiling at him, remembering his recent slip and the
sudden recovery of speech. Forbes seemed entirely unconscious, handing
the plates with an air that was almost fatherly; and Lionel regretted
the obvious necessity of his dismissal in the roseate and
fast-approaching millennium. He was not impatient now, perfectly
disposed to laugh, eat, drink, be merry and take a fair share in the
conversation that sparkled between them. It was a talk as of old, when
they spoke freely and lightly of surface themes--the play, the latest
book, the morning's news--the clash of wit and opinion sounding bravely
through the room.

They smoked a cigarette each over their coffee, but still the talk was
of mundane matters, though neither was ill at ease. There is a telepathy
of souls that can send true messages beneath the cover of human speech.

At last Beatrice said, "Let us go into the garden," and he rose briskly
at the command. She allowed him to help her with her cloak, and then
said, laughing: "But Tony has your coat! What will you do?"

"I shan't need one," he replied. "It's a lovely night."

"You will," she insisted. "I can't have you catching cold. I'll tell
Forbes----"

"No, really," he protested, and threw open the door. "See, what a
glorious night it is! There's not the least need."

She did not press the point, for indeed it was a night for lovers. There
was not a breath of wind in the air, no sound of the works of man to mar
the stillness. From a distant field came the dim wheezing of a
corn-crake; nearer at hand a nightingale was beginning his epithalamic
welcome. A light dew was falling, but nothing to hurt a lover and his
lass, full of health and joyousness. The trees did not even sigh a
greeting: the solemn hush made them imagine that nature herself was
holding her breath in friendly expectation, waiting to hear the old tale
in the newest words, ready to break out into a chorus of free
congratulation. Already Lionel could hear the leaves whispering the gay
tidings, every blade of grass passing on the news, the grassh