have landed was very evident to her companion, who had been balked of
half his chance already by Lady Georgina. Why did elderly persons liable
to faint come to dances?--that was what he fiercely wanted to know as he
pulled out into the lake.

Helena was very quiet. She seemed tired, or dreamy. Instinctively
Geoffrey lost hold on his own purpose. Something warned him to go warily.
By way of starting conversation he began to tell her of his own adventure
on the lake--of the dumb woman among the trees, whom he had seen and
spoken to, without reply. Helena was only moderately interested. It was
some village woman passing through the wood, she supposed. Very likely
the searchlight frightened her, and she knew she had no business there in
June when there were young pheasants about--

"Nobody's started preserving again yet--" put in Geoffrey.

"Old Fenn told me yesterday that there were lots of wild ones," said
Helena languidly. "So there'll be something to eat next winter."

"Are you tired, Helena?"

"Not at all," she said, sitting up suddenly. "What were we talking
about?--oh, pheasants. Do you think we really shall starve next winter,
Geoffrey, as the Food Controller says?"

"I don't much care!" said French.

Helena bent forward.

"Now, you're cross with me, Geoffrey! Don't be cross! I think I really am
tired. I seem to have danced for hours." The tone was childishly
plaintive, and French was instantly appeased. The joy of being with
her--alone--returned upon him in a flood.

"Well, then, rest a little. Why should you go back just yet? Isn't it
jolly out here?"

"Lovely," she said absently--"but I promised Peter."

"That'll be all right. We'll just go across and back."

There was a short silence--long enough to hear the music from the house,
and the distant voices of the dancers. A little northwest wind was
creeping over the lake, and stirring the scents of the grasses and
sedge-plants on its banks. Helena looked round to see in what direction
they were going.

"Ah!--you see that black patch, Geoffrey?"

"Yes--it was near there I saw my ghost--or village woman--or lady's
maid--whatever you like to call it."

"It was a lady's maid, I think," said Helena decidedly. "They have a way
of getting lost. Do you mind going there?"--she pointed--"I want to
explore it."

He pulled a stroke which sent the boat towards the yews; while she
repeated Buntingford's story of the seat.

"Perhaps we shall find her there