towards decision. Jon ought to be told, so
that either his feeling might be nipped in the bud, or, flowering in
spite of the past, come to fruition. And she determined to see Fleur,
and judge for herself. When June determined on anything, delicacy
became a somewhat minor consideration. After all, she was Soames'
cousin, and they were both interested in pictures. She would go and
tell him that he ought to buy a Paul Post, or perhaps a piece of
sculpture by Boris Strumolowski, and of course she would say nothing to
her father. She went on the following Sunday, looking so determined
that she had some difficulty in getting a cab at Reading station. The
river country was lovely in those days of her own month, and June ached
at its loveliness. She who had passed through this life without knowing
what union was had a love of natural beauty which was almost madness.
And when she came to that choice spot where Soames had pitched his
tent, she dismissed her cab, because, business over, she wanted to
revel in the bright water and the woods. She appeared at his front
door, therefore, as a mere pedestrian, and sent in her card. It was in
June's character to know that when her nerves were fluttering she was
doing something worth while. If one's nerves did not flutter, she was
taking the line of least resistance, and knew that nobleness was not
obliging her. She was conducted to a drawing-room, which, though not in
her style, showed every mark of fastidious elegance. Thinking: 'Too
much taste--too many knick-knacks,' she saw in an old lacquer-framed
mirror the figure of a girl coming in from the verandah. Clothed in
white, and holding some white roses in her hand, she had, reflected in
that silvery-grey pool of glass, a vision-like appearance, as if a
pretty ghost had come out of the green garden.

"How do you do?" said June, turning round. "I'm a cousin of your
father's."

"Oh, yes; I saw you in that confectioner's."

"With my young stepbrother. Is your father in?"

"He will be directly. He's only gone for a little walk."

June slightly narrowed her blue eyes, and lifted her decided chin.

"Your name's Fleur, isn't it? I've heard of you from Holly. What do you
think of Jon?"

The girl lifted the roses in her hand, looked at them, and answered
calmly:

"He's quite a nice boy."

"Not a bit like Holly or me, is he?"

"Not a bit."

'She's cool,' thought June.

And suddenly the girl said: "I wish you'd tell me why our fam