Of course she was innocent and jolly, but he believed that she was fond of him and some day he would love--when they were all alone like this--if only half in fun--to give her just one kiss. She surely couldn't mind? It would be splendid and exciting. (It may be added that Geoffrey Alison thought more of its excitement than its splendour.) The very idea made being with her like this so difficult and trying. He could not think of anything to say. It all sounded wrong. Even Helena noticed, at last. "How dull you are to-night!" she said peevishly, for they were old friends and she never troubled to sort out her words. "I believe you _did_ want to work or else had something else to do." "Of course not," he protested, feeling horribly wronged in the circumstances. "This is awfully jolly." Why couldn't he be natural? Helena was not so confident about the jollity. "Hugh _must_ be here soon," she remarked rather wearily. "Why do you call him Hugh?" he asked, jumping at a topic. "Surely that's not really short for Hubert? It ought to be Bert!" "Oh, how dare you?" she asked gaily; she felt that they had got back on to the old easy paths. "Bert indeed--for him! I wonder how you----" and she clapped her hands excitedly. "Yes," she said, her boredom all forgotten, "that's it! I always thought that Mr. Alison was far too stiff; I've got a name for you." "For _me_?" That silly blood was jumping in his brain. "Yes," she cried. "Ally! I shall call you Ally, just like Ally Sloper! That's better than Bert." Ally. It was not romantic, no; but still---- Gad, what a ripping little girl she was! He wished to goodness he hadn't ever thought about that kiss. He could have been ever so much more amusing, make her like him more, if only he hadn't got that possibility before him. And yet ... perhaps it was worth while. But Helena had no such abstract thrill to keep her eyes open and it was well after eleven. She wished now that Mr. Alison had not come in. When Hubert got back, they'd sit and have drinks. She wished that he would go. And how she longed to yawn! If only he would even be amusing.... "Have you seen my snap-shot album?" she asked. In their two years of friendship, it had never come to this before. "No," he said. "May I?" feeling very young. He knew that he was being entertained. She leant down wearily to get it from the bookshelfs lower row. Her smooth white neck stretched in a rounded slope before him. By Gad! His hands moved restlessly towards her. This was his great chance. She might not even ever know! And then--she was so innocent. Suppose she boxed his ears or anything like that? Supposing she told Brett?... "No, don't worry with it," he said, finding it quite hard to speak. "I think I'd better go. It's too late for snap-shots! He must have missed his train." "He'll be here any moment now," she felt compelled to say.