"Now, you're cross with me, Geoffrey! Don't be cross! I think I really am
tired. I seem to have danced for hours." The tone was childishly
plaintive, and French was instantly appeased. The joy of being with
her--alone--returned upon him in a flood.

"Well, then, rest a little. Why should you go back just yet? Isn't it
jolly out here?"

"Lovely," she said absently--"but I promised Peter."

"That'll be all right. We'll just go across and back."

There was a short silence--long enough to hear the music from the house,
and the distant voices of the dancers. A little northwest wind was
creeping over the lake, and stirring the scents of the grasses and
sedge-plants on its banks. Helena looked round to see in what direction
they were going.

"Ah!--you see that black patch, Geoffrey?"

"Yes--it was near there I saw my ghost--or village woman--or lady's
maid--whatever you like to call it."

"It was a lady's maid, I think," said Helena decidedly. "They have a way
of getting lost. Do you mind going there?"--she pointed--"I want to
explore it."

He pulled a stroke which sent the boat towards the yews; while she
repeated Buntingford's story of the seat.