He had moved, so as to stand firmly across the little path that ran from Helena's seat to the inn. She began to fidget--to drop one foot, that had been twisted under her, to the ground, as though "on tiptoe for a flight." "It's time for supper, Peter. Mrs. Friend will think we're drowned. And I caught such a beautiful dish of trout yesterday,--all for your benefit! There's a dear man here who puts on the worms." "You don't go, till I get an answer, Helena." "There's nothing to answer. I've no plans. I draw, and fish, and read poetry. I have some money in the bank; and Cousin Philip will let me do what I like with it. Lastly--I have another month in which to make up my mind." "About what?" "Goose!--where to go next, of course." Peter shook his head. His mood was now as determined, as hot in pursuit, as hers had been, a little earlier. "I bet you'll have to make up your mind about something much more important than that--before long. I happened to be--in the Gallery of the House of Commons yesterday--" "Improving your mind?" "Listening to a lot of wild men talking rot about the army. But there was one man who didn't talk rot, though I agreed with scarcely a thing he said. But then he's a Labour man--or thinks he is--and I know that I'm a Tory--as blue as you make 'em. Anyway I'm perfectly certain you'd have liked to be there, Miss Helena!" "Geoffrey?" said Helena coolly. "Right you are. Well, I can tell you he made a ripping success! The man next to me in the gallery, who seemed to have been born and bred there--knew everybody and everything--and got as much fun out of it as I do out of 'Chu-Chin-Chow'--he told me it was the first time Geoffrey had really got what he called the 'ear of the House'--it was pretty full too!--and that he was certain to get on--office, and all that kind of thing--if he stuck to it. He certainly did it jolly well. He made even an ignorant ass like me sit up. I'd go and hear him again--I vow I would! And there was such a fuss in the lobby! I found Geoffrey there, shovelling out hand-shakes, and talking to press-men. An old uncle of mine--nice old boy--who's sat for a Yorkshire constituency for about a hundred years, caught hold of me. 'Know that fellow, Peter?' 'Rather!' 'Good for you! _He's_ got his foot on the ladder--he'll climb.'" "Horrid word!" said Helena. "Depends on what you mean by it. If you're to get to the top, I suppose you must climb. Now, then, Helena!--if you won't take a man like me whom you can run--take a man like Geoffrey who can run you--and make you jolly happy all the same! There--I can give advice too, you see--and you've no right to be offended!"