"You bet!" The young Adonis shrugged his shoulders. "I seem to have been through a London season, which I haven't done, of course, since 1914. Never went to so many dances in my life!" "Somebody tells me, Peter, that--you're a dreadful flirt!" said Helena, still with those grave, considering eyes. Peter laughed--but rather angrily. "All very well for you to talk, Miss Helena! Please--how many men were you making fools of--including your humble servant--before you went down to Beechmark? You have no conscience, Helena! You are the 'Belle Dame sans merci.'" "All that is most unjust--and ridiculous!" said Helena mildly. Peter went off into a peal of laughter. Helena persisted. "What do you call flirting, Peter?" "Turning a man's head--making him believe that you're gone on him--when, in fact, you don't care a rap!" "Peter!--then of course you _know_ I never flirted with you!" said Helena, with vigour. Peter hesitated, and Helena at once pursued her advantage. "Let's talk of something more to the point. I'm told, Peter, that you've been paying great attentions--marked attentions--to a very nice girl--that everybody's talking about it,--and that you ought long ago either to have fixed it up,--or cleared out. What do you say to that, Peter?" Peter flushed. "I suppose you mean--Jenny Dumbarton," he said slowly. "Of course, she's a very dear, pretty, little thing. But do you know why I first took to her?" He looked defiantly at his companion. "No." "Because--she's rather like you. She's your colour--she has your hair--she's a way with her that's something like you. When I'm dancing with her, if I shut my eyes, I can sometimes fancy--it's you!" "Oh, goodness!" cried Helena, burying her face in her hands. It was a cry of genuine distress. Peter was silent a moment. Then he came closer. "Just look at me, please, Helena!" She raised her eyes unwillingly. In the boy's beautiful clear-cut face the sudden intensity of expression compelled her--held her guiltily silent. "Once more, Helena"--he said, in a voice that shook--"is there no chance for me?" "No, no, dear Peter!" she cried, stretching out her hands to him. "Oh, I thought that was all over. I sent for you because I wanted just to say to you--don't trifle!--don't shilly-shally! I know Jenny Dumbarton a little. She's charming--she's got a delicate, beautiful character--and such a warm heart! Don't break anybody's heart, Peter--for my silly sake!" The surge of emotion in Peter subsided slowly. He began to study the moss at his feet, poking at it with his stick. "What makes you think I've been breaking Jenny's heart?" he said at last in another voice. "Some of your friends, Peter, yours and mine--have been writing to me. She's--she's very fond of you, they say, and lately she's been looking a little limp ghost--all along of you, Mr. Peter! What have you been doing?"