Besides, Leslie Morrison was always very nice to Geraldine. He sat between the sisters at the entertainments to which they went frequently, he gave chocolates and sweets to Geraldine oftener than to Elsie, and he was always ready to talk of Geraldine’s favourite topic, the old days in the office. Only his dark eyes sought Elsie’s face with increasing frequency, his pleasant young voice altered slightly and indescribably when he found himself alone with her. It seemed part of the magic of those enchanted days that Geraldine should make no scene, Horace Williams appear to perceive nothing. On Sunday evening a band played in the public gardens. They decided to go and hear it. Then Williams developed his mysterious symptoms, and refused to come out. “You girls can go with Morrison. I shall take a glass of boiling water with peppermint,” he declared, “and go to bed. I’m in agony.” “Would you like me to stay with you?” Elsie asked, her heart sinking. “No, no, go and enjoy yourself.” “Perhaps you’ll feel better in a bit, and come and join us,” she suggested, and thankfully made her escape. The gardens were lit with Japanese lanterns and crowded with holiday-makers. Pale frocks and scarves flickered oddly in and out of the shadows and beyond the bright circle of glaring white light thrown out from the raised and roofed circular platform of the bandstand. “No hope of chairs, I suppose,” said Geraldine disconsolately. “We’re late, thanks to Horace. Just look at the people.” Morrison volunteered to try and find a seat, and they watched his tall figure disappear into the throng of people. “I shall be sick if I have to stand for long, that’s certain,” declared Geraldine. “I believe the sun was too hot for me this afternoon. My head’s splitting.” “Take off your hat, why don’t you?” Elsie’s own hair was only covered with a blue motor veil, knotted at either ear, and with floating ends. “My hair would be all over the place. I like to look tidy, thank you.” “Please yourself,” said Elsie indifferently. She was absorbed in watching for the first glimpse of Morrison returning to them. When she caught sight of him, elbowing his way through the crowd, it actually seemed to her as though the heart in her body leaped forward to meet him. As usual, his eyes sought Elsie’s and held them for an instant before he turned to Geraldine. “There’s one chair there. I’ve taken it, and a fellow is kindly keeping it for me. I thought you and your sister could take it in turns to sit down.” “I don’t know....” Geraldine began ungraciously. “It’s quite a good place, and nice-looking people on either side. The chap that’s keeping it for us seemed very decent.” “Oh, go on, Geraldine!” said Elsie. “Hark, they are beginning again.” The band had struck into a selection from a popular musical comedy. Leslie Morrison put his arm beneath the girl’s elbow, and they moved away, Geraldine still grumbling sub-audibly. Elsie, motionless, waited.