koned to Peter.

"Do you mind?--I'll come back!" he said to his partner, and rushed off.

"Second supper dance!" "All right!"

He returned radiant, and in his recovered good humour proceeded to make
himself delightful even to Miss Chance, whom, five minutes before, he
had detested.

But when he had returned her to her mother, Peter wandered off alone. He
did not want to dance with anybody, to talk to anybody. He wanted just to
remember Helena's smile, her eager--"I've kept it for you, Peter, all the
evening!"--and to hug the thought of his coming joy. Oh, he hadn't a
dog's chance, he knew, but as long as she was not actually married to
somebody else, he was not going to give up hope.

In a shrubbery walk, where a rising moon was just beginning to chequer
the path with light and shade, he ran into Julian Horne, who was
strolling tranquilly up and down, book in hand.

"Hullo, what are you doing here?" said the invaded one.

"Getting cool. And you?"

Julian showed his book--_The Coming Revolution_, a Bolshevist pamphlet,
then enjoying great vogue in manufacturing England.

"What are you reading such rot for?" said Peter, wondering.

"It gives a piquancy to this kind of thing!" was Horne's smiling reply,
as they reached an open space in the walk, and he waved his hand towards
the charming scene before them, the house with its lights, on its rising
ground above the lake, the dancing groups on the lawn, the illuminated
rose-garden; and below, the lake, under its screen of wood, with boats on
the smooth water, touched every now and then by the creeping fingers of
the searchlight from the boathouse, so that one group after another of
young men and maidens stood out in a white glare against the darkness of
the trees.

"It will last our time," said Peter recklessly. "Have you seen
Buntingford?"

"A little while ago, he was sitting out with Lady Cynthia. But when he
passed me just now, he told me he was going down to look after the lake
and the boats--in case of accidents. There is a current at one end
apparently, and a weir; and the keeper who understands all about it is in
a Canada regiment on the Rhine."

"Do you think Buntingford's going to marry Lady Cynthia?" asked
Peter suddenly.

Horne laughed. "That's not my guess, at present," he said after a moment.

As he spoke, a boat on the lake came into the track of the searchlight,
and the two persons in it were clearly visible--Buntingford rowing, and
Helena, i