he's the only person who's seen her."

"Right you are. After lunch."

Buntingford nodded assent and went into the house.

* * * * *

The day grew hotter. Lodge and Julian Horne went off for a swim in the
cool end of the lake. Peter still slept, looking so innocent and
infantine in his sleep that no one had the heart to wake him. French and
Helena were left together, and were soon driven by the advancing sun to
the deep shade of a lime-avenue, which, starting from the back of the
house, ran for half a mile through the park. Here they were absolutely
alone. Lady Mary's prying eyes were defeated, and Helena incidentally
remarked that Mrs. Friend, being utterly "jacked up," had been bullied
into staying in bed till luncheon.

So that in the green sunflecked shadow of the limes, Geoffrey had--if
Helena so pleased--a longer _tete-a-tete_ before him, and a more generous
opportunity, even, than the gods had given him on the lake. His pulses
leapt; goaded, however, by alternate hope and fear. But at least he had
the chance to probe the situation a little deeper; even if prudence
should ultimately forbid him anything more.

Helena had chosen a wooden seat round one of the finest limes. Some books
brought out for show rather than use, lay beside her. A piece of
knitting--a scarf of a bright greenish yellow--lay on the lap of her
white dress. She had taken off her hat, and Geoffrey was passionately
conscious of the beauty of the brown head resting, as she talked, against
the furrowed trunk of the lime. Her brown-gold hair was dressed in the
new way, close to the head and face, and fastened by some sapphire pins
behind the ear. From this dark frame, and in the half light of the
avenue, the exquisite whiteness of the forehead and neck, the brown eyes,
so marvellously large and brilliant, and yet so delicately finished in
every detail beneath their perfect brows, and the curve of the lips over
the small white teeth, stood out as if they had been painted on ivory by
a miniature-painter of the Renaissance. Her white dress, according to the
prevailing fashion, was almost low--as children's frocks used to be in
the days of our great-grandmothers. It was made with a childish full
bodice, and a childish sash of pale blue held up the rounded breast, that
rose and fell with her breathing, beneath the white muslin. Pale blue
stockings, and a pair of white shoes, with preposterous heels and pointed
toes, co