ere hidden
beneath this manner of careful gravity, but, as the excitement of
Franklin's presence had at first done--and in how much greater
degree--they subtly transformed her; made her look and speak and move
with a different languor and gentleness.

Gerald himself was the first to feel a change, the first to become aware
of an aroma of mystery. He had been indifferent indeed, though he had
obeyed Helen and had tried not only to be very courteous but to be very
nice as well. Now, finding Althea's grave eyes upon him when he
sometimes yielded to Lady Pickering's allurements, finding them turned
away with that look of austere mildness, he ceased to be so indifferent,
he began to wonder how much the little Puritan disapproved and how much
she really minded; he began to make surmises about the state of mind
that could be so aloof, so gentle, and so inflexible.

He met Althea one afternoon in the garden and walked up and down with
her while she filled her basket with roses. She was very gentle, and
immeasurably distant. The sense of her withdrawal roused his masculine
instinct of pursuit. How different she was from Frances Pickering! How
charmingly different. Yes, in her elaborate little dress of embroidered
lawn, with her elaborate garden hat pinned so neatly on her thick fair
hair, she pleased him by the sense of contrast. There was charm in her
lack of charm, attraction in her indifference. How impossible to
imagine those grave eyes smiling an alluring smile--he was getting tired
of alluring smiles--how impossible to imagine Miss Jakes flirting.

'It's very nice to see you here,' he said. 'I have so many nice memories
about this old garden. You don't mind my cigarette?'

Althea said that she liked it.

'There is a beautiful spray, Miss Jakes. Let me reach it for you.'

'Oh, thank you so much.'

'You are fond of flowers?'

'Very fond.'

'Which are your favourites?'

'Lilies of the valley.' Althea spoke kindly, as she might have spoken to
a rather importunate child; his questions, indeed, were not original.

Gerald tried to mend the tameness of the effect that he was making.
'Yes, only the florists have rather spoiled them, haven't they? My
favourites are the wilder ones--honeysuckle, grass of Parnassus,
bell-heather. Helen always makes me think of grass of Parnassus and
bell-heather, she is so solitary and delicate and strong.' He wanted
Althea to realise that his real appreciation was for types very
differe