es Contes d'Hoffmann," and they listened until it died faintly away
in the distance.

Then at last, with a great sigh Vane stood up and stretched himself.
For a long while he looked down at the girl, and it seemed to her that
his face was sad. Without a word he untied the punt, and, still in
silence, they paddled slowly back towards the hotel.

It was only as they were drifting under the bridge that he spoke, just
one short sentence, in a voice which shook a little.

"My dear," he whispered, "I thank you," and very gently he raised her
hand to his lips. . . .

But at dinner he had banished all traces of sadness from his mood.
They both bubbled with the spontaneous happiness of two children.
Binks, to his intense disgust, had to submit to the indignity of a
table napkin tied round his neck, and all the occupants of the hotel
thought them mad. Incidentally they were--quite mad, which was just as
it should be after such a day. Only when they were leaving did they
become sane again for a moment.

"Just one more look at the river, my lady," said Vane to her, "before
we start. There's a little path I know of, leading out of the rose
garden where one can't be seen, and we've just got to say our good-bye
to the water alone."

He led the way and Joan followed with Binks trotting sedately between
them. And then with his arm round her waist, and her head on his
shoulder, they stood and watched the black water flowing smoothly by.

"I've stuck to the rule, grey girl." Vane's arm tightened round her;
"I've said not a word about the future. But to-morrow I am going to
come to you; to-morrow you've got to decide."

He felt her shiver slightly against him, and he bent and kissed her
passionately. "There can only be one answer," he whispered fiercely.
"There shall only be one answer. We're just made for one
another. . . ."

But it seemed to both of them that the air had become colder. . . .

"You'll come in, Derek," said Joan as the car drew up in Ashley
Gardens. "Come in and have a drink; my aunt would like to see you."

Barely a word had been spoken on the drive home, and as Vane followed
her into the flat it struck him that her face seemed a little white.

"Are you feeling cold, dear?" he asked anxiously. "I ought to have
taken another rug."

"Not a bit," Joan smiled at him. "Only a little tired. . . . Even the
laziest days are sometimes a little exacting!" She laughed softly.
"And you're rather an exa