"Then that's all right," he said. "Because ten minutes ago Pat got engaged to me." III A light breeze was blowing through the garden as John returned. It played with sunshine in Pat's hair as she stood by the lavender hedge. "Well?" she said eagerly. "It's all right," said John. "You told him?" "Yes." There was a pause. The bees buzzed among the lavender. "Was he----?" "Cut up?" "Yes." "Yes," said John in a low voice. "But he took it like a sportsman. I left him almost cheerful." He would have said more, but at this moment his attention was diverted by a tickling sensation in his right leg. A suspicion that one of the bees, wearying of lavender, was exploring the surface of his calf, came to John. But, even as he raised a hand to swat the intruder, Pat spoke again. "Johnnie." "Hullo?" "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking." John's suspicion grew. It felt like a bee. He believed it was a bee. "Thinking? What about?" "You." "Me?" "Yes." "What were you thinking about me?" "Only that you were the most wonderful thing in the world." "Pat!" "You are, you know," said Pat, examining him gravely. "I don't know what it is about you, and I can't imagine why I have been all these years finding it out, but you're the dearest, sweetest, most angelic...." "Tell me more," said John. He took her in his arms, and time stood still. "Pat!" whispered John. He was now positive that it was a bee, and almost as positive that it was merely choosing a suitable spot before stinging him. But he made no move. The moment was too sacred. After all, bee stings were good for rheumatism. THE END