"Dear Peter!"

He bent impetuously, and kissed the hand before she could withdraw it.

"Don't you play with me, Helena," he said passionately. "I'm not a child,
though I look it ... Now, then, let's have it out."

They had reached the middle of the pond, and were drifting across a
moonlit pathway, on either side of which lay the shadow of deep woods,
now impenetrably dark. The star in Helena's hair glittered in the light,
and the face beneath it, robbed of its daylight colour, had become a
study in black and white, subtler and more lovely than the real Helena.

"Why did you do it, Helena?" said Peter suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Why did you behave to me as you did, at the Arts Ball? Why did you cut
me, not once--but twice--three times--for that _beast_ Donald?"

Helena laughed.

"Now _you're_ beginning!" she said, as she lazily trailed her hand in the
water. "It's really comic!"

"What do you mean?"

"Only that I've already quarrelled with Cousin Philip--and
Geoffrey--about Lord Donald--so if you insist on quarrelling too, I shall