and it makes me feel
guilty if I see her having a bad time because of your misbehaviour.'

'A bad time?'

'Really. She takes things hard. She said it was mimicking a sacred
thing.'

'Oh! but, I say, how awfully funny, Helen. You must own that it's
funny.'

'Funny, but sweet, too.'

'She is a sweet creature, of course, one can see that; and her moral
approvals and disapprovals are firmly fixed, however funny; one likes
that in her. I'll try to be good, if Frances will let me. She looked
quite pretty this evening, Miss Jakes; only she dresses too stiffly.
What's the matter? Couldn't you give her a hint? She is like a
satin-box, and a woman ought to be like a flower; ought to look as if
they'd bend if a breeze went over them. Now you can't imagine Miss Jakes
bending; she'd have to stoop.'

Helen, in the darkness, smiled half bitterly, half affectionately.
Gerald's nonsense always pleased her, even when she was most exasperated
with him. She was not exasperated with Gerald in particular just now,
but with everything and everybody, herself included, and the fact that
he liked to flirt flagrantly with Lady Pickering did not move her more
than usual. It was not a particular but a general irritation that edged
her voice a little as she said, drawing her black scarf more closely
round her shoulders, 'Frances must satisfy you there. Your tastes, I
think, are becoming more and more dishevelled.'

But innocent Gerald answered with a coal of fire: 'No, she is too
dishevelled. You satisfy my tastes there entirely; you flow, but you
don't flop. Now if Miss Jakes would only try to dress like you she'd be
immensely improved. You are perfect.' And he lightly touched her scarf
as he spoke with a fraternal and appreciative hand.

Helen continued to smile in the darkness, but it was over an almost
irresistible impulse to sob. The impulse was so strong that it
frightened her, and it was with immense relief that she saw Althea's
figure--her 'box-like' figure--appear in the lighted window. She did
not want to talk to Althea, and she could not, just now, go on talking
to Gerald. From their corner of the terrace she indicated the vaguely
gazing Althea. 'There she is,' she said. 'Go and talk to her. Be nice to
her. I'm tired and am going to have a stroll in the shrubberies before
bed.'

She left Gerald obediently, if not eagerly, moving towards the window,
and slipping into the obscurity of the shrubberies she threw back her
scarf a