the soft catch in the breath. But she rallied quickly.

"That was altogether different! You had no business to say that,
Geoffrey."

"Well, then, forgive me--and keep me quiet--just--just one kiss, Helena!"

The last passionate words were hardly audible. They had passed into the
deepest shadow of the avenue. No one was visible in all its green length.
They stood ensiled by summer; the great trees mounting guard. Helena
threw a glance to right and left.

"Well, then--to keep you quiet--_sans préjudice_!"

She demurely offered her cheek. But his lips were scarcely allowed to
touch it, she drew away so quickly.

"Now, then, that's quite settled!" she said in her most matter-of-fact
voice. "Such a comfort! Let's go back."

They turned back along the avenue, a rather flushed pair, enjoying each
other's society, and discussing the dance, and their respective partners.

It happened, however, that this little scene--at its most critical
point--had only just escaped a spectator. Philip Buntingford passed
across the further end of the avenue on his way to the Horne Farm, at the
moment when Helena and Geoffrey turned their backs to him, walking
towards the house. They were not aware of him; but he stopped a moment to
watch the young figures disappearing under the green shade. A look of
pleasure was in his blue eyes. It seemed to him that things were going