arm or the hand within it were quivering most.

"Some people," said Irene softly, "think the moon on her back is evil;
to me she's always lovely. Look at those cypress shadows! Jon, Father
says we may go to Italy, you and I, for two months. Would you like?"

Jon took his hand from under her arm; his sensation was so sharp and
so confused. Italy with his mother! A fortnight ago it would have been
perfection; now it filled him with dismay; he felt that the sudden
suggestion had to do with Fleur. He stammered out:

"Oh! yes; only--I don't know. Ought I--now I've just begun? I'd like to
think it over."

Her voice answered, cool and gentle:

"Yes, dear; think it over. But better now than when you've begun farming
seriously. Italy with you! It would be nice!"

Jon put his arm round her waist, still slim and firm as a girl's.

"Do you think you ought to leave Father?" he said feebly, feeling very
mean.

"Father suggested it; he thinks you ought to see Italy at least before
you settle down to anything."

The sense of meanness died in Jon; he knew, yes--he knew--that his
father and his mother were not speaking frankly, no more than he
himself. They wanted to keep him from Fleur. His heart hardened. And, as