nds on his sides, looking
very manly, and rather pale.

"Having disposed of me for the last six months--you may as well dispose
of me altogether," he said slowly. "Very well--I will go--and propose
to Jenny Dumbarton---the day after to-morrow. Her people asked me for
the week-end. I gave a shuffling answer. I'll wire to her to-morrow
that I'm coming--"

"Peter--you're a darling!" cried Helena in delight, clapping her hands.
"_Oh_!--I wish I could see Jenny's face when she opens the wire! You'll
be very good to her, Peter?"

She looked at him searchingly, stirred by one of the sudden tremors that
beset even the most well-intentioned match-maker.

Peter smiled, with a rather twisted lip, straightening his shoulders.

"I shouldn't ask any girl to marry me, that I couldn't love and honour,
not even to please you, Helena! And she knows all about you!"

"She doesn't!" said Helena, in consternation.

"Yes, she does. I don't mean to say that I've told her the exact number
of times you've refused me. But she knows quite enough. She'll take
me--if she does take me--with her eyes open. Well, now that's
settled!--But you interrupted me. There's one condition, Helena!"

"Name it." She eyed him nervously.

--"That in return for managing my life, you give me some indication of
how you're going to manage your own!"

Helena fell back on the bilberry stalk, to gain time.

--"Because--" resumed Peter--"it's quite clear the Beechmark situation is
all bust up. Philip's got an idiot-boy to look after--with Cynthia Welwyn
in constant attendance. I don't see any room for you there, Helena!"

"Neither do I," said Helena, quietly. "You needn't tell me that."

"Well, then, what are you going to do?"

"You forget, Peter, that I possess the dearest and nicest little
chaperon. I can roam the world where I please--without making any
scandals."

"You'll always make scandals--"

"_Scandals_, Peter!" protested Helena.

"Well, victories, wherever you go--unless somebody has you pretty tightly
in hand. But you and I--both know a man--that would be your match!"

He had moved, so as to stand firmly across the little path that ran
from Helena's seat to the inn. She began to fidget--to drop one foot,
that had been twisted under her, to the ground, as though "on tiptoe
for a flight."

"It's time for supper, Peter. Mrs. Friend will think we're drowned. And I
caught such a beautiful dish of trout yesterday,--all for your benefit!
There's