broken off. Do you know him?"

"I do. That's why I'm going to the Scar. I've promised to explain
matters as far as I can."

Muriel studied his disturbed face with a twinkle of amusement. "Well,
I'm sorry for Helen; it must have been a shock. For all that, I thought
the engagement a mistake."

"Then you have seen Charnock?"

"Once. He's a friend of some people Helen used to stay with in the
South, but I met him at the Scar. Handsome, and charming, in a way, but
I thought him weak."

"What are Miss Dalton's people like?"

"Don't you want to know what Helen is like?"

"No," said Festing. "I know her already; that is, I've seen her
picture."

Muriel, glancing at him keenly, did not understand his look, but
replied: "Helen lives with her mother and aunt, but it's hard to
describe them. They are not old, but seem to date back to other times.
In fact, they're rather unique nowadays. Like very dainty old china;
you'd expect them to break if they were rudely jarred. You feel they
ought to smell of orris and lavender."

"Ah," said Festing. "I was a fool to promise Charnock. I've never met
people like that, and am afraid they'll get a jar to-morrow."

"I don't think you need be afraid," Muriel replied. "They're not really
prudish or censorious, though they are fastidious."

"And is Miss Dalton like her mother and aunt?"

"In a way. Helen has their refinement, but she's made of harder stuff.
She would wear better among strains and shocks."

Festing shook his head. "Girls like her ought to be sheltered and kept
from shocks. After all, there's something to be said for Charnock's
point of view. Your delicate English grace and bloom ought to be
protected and not rubbed off by the rough cares of life."

"I don't know if you're nice or not," Muriel rejoined with a laugh.
"Anyway, you don't know many English girls, and your ideas about us are
old-fashioned. We are not kept in lavender now. Besides, it isn't the
surface bloom that matters, and fine stuff does not wear out. It takes
a keener edge and brighter polish from strenuous use. And Helen is fine
stuff."

"So I thought," said Festing quietly, and stopped at the end of the
terrace. The bleating of sheep had died away, and except for the splash
of the beck a deep silence brooded over the dale. The sun had set and
the landscape was steeped in soft blues and grays, into which woods and
hills slowly melted.

"It's remarkably pleasant here," he said. "Not a sign of str