"Oh! I promise," and John Derringham jumped up--his movements were
always quick and decided and full of nervous force. "I will bring my
hostess to see you on Monday or Tuesday, Master," he announced, as he
said good-by. "And prepare yourself to fall at her feet like all the
rest of us--Merlin and Vivien, you know. It will be a just punishment
for your scathing remarks."

When they were outside in the garden Halcyone spoke not a word. The beds
were a glory of spring bulbs, and every bud on the trees was bursting
with its promise of coming leaf. Glad, chirruping bird-notes called to
one another, and a couple of partridges ran across the lawn.

John Derringham took in the lines of Halcyone's graceful person as she
walked ahead. She had that same dignity of movement from the hips which
the Niké of Samothrace seems to be advancing with as you come up the
steps of the Louvre.

How tall she had grown! She must be at least five feet nine or ten. But
why would she not speak?

He overawed her here in the daylight, and she felt silent and oppressed.

"Whereabouts is our tree that we sat in when I was young and you were
old?" he asked, after they had got through the gap in the hedge. A
little gate had been put in the last years to keep out the increasing
herd of deer.

"It is over there by the copse," she said shyly. "The lower branch fell
last winter, and it makes a delightful seat. One is not obliged to climb
into the tree now. See: Demetrius helped me to drag it close, and we