“I want to congratulate you, but I see so plainly all the obstacles. You rode straight to-day. I am wondering how you will negotiate the fences between your father and his parson’s daughter.” “They look big enough to me, I can assure you.” The paramount desire to please herself by pleasing others rose strong within her. Why be “cattish” with a jolly boy? Let him think of her for ever and ever as a pal. All trace of claws vanished as she said softly: “If I can help you I will.” He responded affectionately: “You are a good sort. Help me? Of course you can. I—I think mother will side with me.” Almost she betrayed herself. The words flew to her lips, “Lady Pomfret didn’t side with me.” Fortunately they remained unspoken. She said instead: “Probably. Joyce Hamlin is dear to her. Frankly, I feel most sorry for your mother. What a poignant position! If she sides with you she declares war against her husband, who boasts that he is still her lover.” Lionel grew more and more depressed. His next remark had humour in it, not intended by him. “You aren’t helping me much, Margot.” She saw the humour and laughed. “Cheer up! You are an only child. Your father loves you. In the end he will climb down, but the fences are there, and you are still on the wrong side of them.” “I dare say you would dash at ’em.” “I am I. I’ve ridden for a fall before now, and had it. You are you. A fall over these particular fences might be disastrous. Go canny! Creep! Crane! That is my advice.” “I feel that way myself, although I hate creeping and craning. Did father say anything to you about Johnnie Fordingbridge?” “You mean the man who tootled the tandem horn?” “Yes. He married his agent’s daughter. He was going fast to the bowwows before I went to India. I never saw such a change in a fellow—never.” “Sir Geoffrey did say something. What was it? Oh, yes. He pointed him out as a man who had paid a preposterous price for twins.” “I wonder what father would be willing to pay for another son?” “Or a grandson,” murmured Margot. She was very nice and sympathetic after this, the more so, perhaps, as unconsciously he made plain his position—that of dependence on his father. Margot smiled when he prattled of living on his pay in another regiment. And yet the boy’s unworldliness, his faith in true love and hard work (which he knew so little about), caught oddly in her heart. She knew that she had been right in one thing, her “flair” had not failed her—he sat upright in his saddle, a gallant gentleman, a credit to his Order. We must admit that she dealt kindly with him under considerable provocation to be unkind. Sensible of this, he showed his gratitude, almost too effusively. But he had wit enough not to praise his ladylove. The adjectives still rankled—pretty—good—amiable. They rode into the stable-yard. * * * * * CHAPTER XIV “Creep—crane—go canny!”