“That doesn’t describe the child quite fairly, Geoffrey.” “Well, well, you know what I’m driving at. It is his duty not to marry for money, but to find a nice girl with money. There are plenty of ’em. God forbid that I should force Lady Margot down his throat! It is quite likely she won’t cotton to him——” “Or he to her?” “As to that, I am not alarmed. You charmers,” he smiled genially at her, “lead us poor fellows where you will. Practically, Mary, you proposed to me.” “I didn’t.” “You lured me on and on, you witch! If this little lady wants Lionel, she’ll lure him on. I don’t worry about that. He gave me his word that he was heart-whole.” “Then he is, or was, when he said so.” “Was—was? You don’t think——?” “I think lots of things. I know very little. Till quite lately Lionel has been transparently friendly with Joyce and she with him. During the past few days I have noticed a slight change in him. I have hardly set eyes on her. He is a trifle absent-minded with me, and not quite so jolly. I am sure of this—he shares your anxieties. He would like to help you, but cannot find a way. He did just hint to me that he would leave the army, if he knew enough to take Bonsor’s place.” “Rubbish! I have indicated the way for him, a broad and easy path. Well, I have a lot to do, but I had to have this chat with you. You are sure of Ben’s loyalty—hay?” Her eyes did not meet his, but she answered quietly: “I am sure that dear Ben has the true interests of all of us next his heart.” He paused at the door, smiling at her. “I am off to the Home Farm. I shall pass through the rose garden, and I shall pick the best rose for you. Where is Lionel?” “I don’t know.” * * * * * Lionel happened to be at the Vicarage. He had definitely made up his mind that he could say to Joyce what he kept from his own mother and father, and he knew, instinctively, that her advice, at such a moment, would help him enormously. He could, it is true, have laid his case before the Parson, a sound adviser, but he shrank from such an ordeal. Hamlin was too brutally outspoken. To place his perplexities before him meant listening to a one-sided indictment of landed gentry in general and the Squire in particular. Chance, so often complaisant to lovers, ordained that Lionel should find Joyce alone. The Parson was attending a Diocesan Conference in Salisbury, and his eldest son had accompanied him. Also, it happened to be raining; so Joyce received Lionel in her own den, where she kept a lathe, a sewing-machine, rolls of flannel and long-cloth, many books, and her collections of eggs and butterflies. Lionel was invited to sit down and light his pipe. “This is like old times,” he remarked. “Isn’t it?” While he was filling his pipe, she went on with her sewing. He looked at her small, capable hands and deft fingers, her workmanlike kit, and the shining coils of her brown hair, a shade lighter than her eyes.