over her head, and the wind blew the tendrils of her hair
against his cheek. "We've got to get last night into its proper place,
grey girl," he went on after a while. "And only you can do it. . . .
As far as I'm concerned--why there's never been any doubt. . . . It's
just for you to decide. . . ."

"But I don't want to decide." Her voice, a little muffled, came from
his shoulder. "I want you to decide for me." Then, leaning away from
him, she put both her hands on his shoulders. "Take me away,
Derek--take me away with you now. Let's go and get married--just you
and I and Binks--and go right away from everyone, and be alone." Once
again the imps knocked tauntingly, but Vane only smiled gravely and
shook his head.

"Where would the difference be, darling?" he asked. "Where would the
difference be? I guess it's not a question of with or without benefit
of clergy between you and me."

Her hands fell to her side wearily, and she turned away. "I suppose
you're doing what you think is right, dear," she said at length. "And
I can't take you and drag you to the altar, can I?"

"I'll want no dragging, little Joan, if you're of the same mind in a
fortnight's time." Then suddenly he caught both her hands in his. "My
dear, my dear!" he cried hoarsely; "don't you see I must give you time
to make sure? I must. . . ."

She shook her head. "I've had too much time already, Derek. I'm
frightened of time; I don't want to think. . . . Oh! boy, boy, don't
let me think; just take me, and think for me. . . ."

But once again Vane smiled gravely, and shook his head. "We can't
dodge it like that, my darling--we just can't. . . ." He bent down to
pick up his coat, and the god in charge sent a casual glance in their
direction, to see that matters were progressing favourably. And when
he saw the little hopeless smile on the girl's face he turned to one of
his pals.

"It's too easy," he remarked in a bored voice, and turned his attention
to a struggling curate with four children who had married for
love. . . .

And so that afternoon Vane acted according to his lights. Maybe it was
wisdom, maybe it was folly, but the point is immaterial, for it was
written in the Book of the Things that Happen.

He went, telling his host that he had found fresh orders at the Post
Office that morning: and the girl waved her handkerchief at him from
her bedroom window as the car went down the drive.

For one brief moment after lunc