his Alfred Stevens--the
picture he loved best. He did not turn at the sound of the door, but she
knew he had heard, and she knew he was hurt. She came up softly behind
him, put her arms round his neck, and poked her face over his shoulder
till her cheek lay against his. It was an advance which had never yet
failed, but it failed her now, and she augured the worst. "Well," he
said stonily, "so you've come!"

"Is that all," murmured Fleur, "from a bad parent?" And she rubbed her
cheek against his.

Soames shook his head so far as that was possible.

"Why do you keep me on tenterhooks like this, putting me off and off?"

"Darling, it was very harmless."

"Harmless! Much you know what's harmless and what isn't."

Fleur dropped her arms.

"Well, then, dear, suppose you tell me; and be quite frank about it."

And she went over to the window-seat.

Her father had turned from his picture, and was staring at his feet. He
looked very grey. 'He has nice small feet,' she thought, catching his
eye, at once averted from her.

"You're my only comfort," said Soames suddenly, "and you go on like
this."

Fleur's heart began to beat.

"Like what, dear?"

Again Soames gave her a look which, but for the affection in it, might
have been called furtive.

"You know what I told you," he said. "I don't choose to have anything to
do with that branch of our family."

"Yes, ducky, but I don't know why I shouldn't."

Soames turned on his heel.

"I'm not going into the reasons," he said; "you ought to trust me,
Fleur!"

The way he spoke those words affected Fleur, but she thought of Jon, and
was silent, tapping her foot against the wainscot. Unconsciously she had
assumed a modern attitude, with one leg twisted in and out of the other,
with her chin on one bent wrist, her other arm across her chest, and
its hand hugging her elbow; there was not a line of her that was not
involuted, and yet--in spite of all--she retained a certain grace.

"You knew my wishes," Soames went on, "and yet you stayed on there four
days. And I suppose that boy came with you to-day."

Fleur kept her eyes on him.

"I don't ask you anything," said Soames; "I make no inquisition where
you're concerned."

Fleur suddenly stood up, leaning out at the window with her chin on her
hands. The sun had sunk behind trees, the pigeons were perched, quite
still, on the edge of the dove-cot; the click of the billiard-balls
mounted, and a faint radiance shone ou