off together in the direction of a strip of
silver under distant trees on which the moon was shining.

French walked away towards the girlish figure now deserted.

Helena watched him out of the corner of her eyes, saw the girl's eager
greeting, and the disappearance of the two in the woody walk that
bordered the lawn. Then she noticed a man sitting by himself not far
away, with a newspaper on his knee.

"Suppose we take Mr. Horne, Peter?"

"Don't let's take anybody!" said the boy. "And anyway Horne's a nuisance
just now. He talks you dead with strikes--and nationalization--and labour
men--and all that rot. Can't we ever let it alone? I want to talk to
_you_, Helena. I say, you are ripping in that dress! You're just
_divine_, Helena!" The girl laughed, her sweetest, most rippling laugh.

"Go on like that, Peter. You can't think how nice it sounds--especially
after Geoffrey's been lecturing for all he's worth."

"Lecturing? Oh well, if it comes to that, I've got my grievance too,
Helena. We'll have it out, when I've found the boat."

"Forewarned!" said Helena, still laughing. "Perhaps I won't come."

"Oh, yes, you will," said the boy confidently. "I believe you know
perfectly well what it's about. You've got a guilty conscience,
Miss Helena!"

Helena said nothing, till they had pushed the boat out from the reeds
and the water-lilies, and she was sitting with the steering ropes in
her hands opposite a boy in his shirt sleeves, with the head and face
of a cherub, and the spare frame of an athlete, who was devouring her
with his eyes.

"Are you quite done with the Army, Peter?"

"Quite. Got out a month ago. You come to me, Helena, if you want any
advice about foreign loans--eh? I can tell you a thing or two."

"Are you going to be very rich?"

"Well, I'm pretty rich already," said the boy candidly. "It seems beastly
to be wanting more. But my uncles would shove me into the Bank. I
couldn't help it."

"You'll never look so nice as you did in your khaki, Peter. What have you
done with all your ribbons?"

"What, the decorations? Oh, they're kicking about somewhere."

"You're not to let your Victoria Cross kick about, as you call it," said
Helena severely. "By the way, Peter, you've never told me yet--Oh, I saw
the bit in the _Times_. But I want _you_ to tell me about it. Won't you?"

She bent forward, all softness, her beautiful eyes on her companion.

"No!" said Peter with energy--"_never_!"

She consid