as they reached an open space in the walk, and he waved his hand towards
the charming scene before them, the house with its lights, on its rising
ground above the lake, the dancing groups on the lawn, the illuminated
rose-garden; and below, the lake, under its screen of wood, with boats on
the smooth water, touched every now and then by the creeping fingers of
the searchlight from the boathouse, so that one group after another of
young men and maidens stood out in a white glare against the darkness of
the trees.

"It will last our time," said Peter recklessly. "Have you seen
Buntingford?"

"A little while ago, he was sitting out with Lady Cynthia. But when he
passed me just now, he told me he was going down to look after the lake
and the boats--in case of accidents. There is a current at one end
apparently, and a weir; and the keeper who understands all about it is in
a Canada regiment on the Rhine."

"Do you think Buntingford's going to marry Lady Cynthia?" asked
Peter suddenly.

Horne laughed. "That's not my guess, at present," he said after a moment.

As he spoke, a boat on the lake came into the track of the searchlight,
and the two persons in it were clearly visible--Buntingford rowing, and
Helena, in the stern. The vision passed in a flash; and Horne turned a
pair of eyes alive with satirical meaning on his companion.

"Well!" said Peter, troubled, he scarcely knew why--"what do you mean?"