The next day seemed fine enough to justify Mrs. Grey, Margaret, and Monica in making an expedition into Oxford to see about Christmas presents; and in the afternoon, while Pauline was sitting alone in the nursery, Guy was shown in by Janet. Pauline felt very shy and blushful when she met him so intimately as this, after all her plans for him on the night before. He, too, seemed ill at ease, and she was sadly positive he missed Margaret. The sense of embarrassment lasted until tea-time, when Janet came in to say that the Rector, hearing of Mr. Hazlewood's arrival, had decided to have tea in the nursery. "Oh, what fun!" cried Pauline, clapping her hands. "Janet, do give him the mug with 'A PRESENT FOR A GOOD BOY' on it!" "Dear me, Miss Pauline, what things you do think of, I do declare. Well, did you ever? Tut-tut! Fancy, for your father, too!" Nevertheless Janet sedately put the mug on the tray. When she was gone Pauline turned to Guy and said: "I'm sure Father thinks he ought to come and chaperon us. Isn't he sweet?" Presently the Rector appeared, looking very tall in the low doorway. He nodded cheerfully to Guy: "Seen Vartani? You know he's that pale, blue fellow from Nazareth. Very often he's a washy lilac, but this is genuinely blue." "No, I don't think I noticed it--him, I mean," said Guy, apologetically. "Oh, Father, of course he didn't! It's a tiny iris," she explained to Guy, "and Father puts in new roots every year...." "Bulbs, my dear, bulbs," corrected Mr. Grey. "It's one of the Histrio lot." "Well, bulbs. And every year one flower comes out in the middle of the Winter rain and lasts about ten minutes, and then all the Summer Birdwood and Father grub about looking for the bulb, which they never find, and then Father gets six new ones." They talked on, the three of them, about flowery subjects while the Rector drank his tea from the mug without a word of comment on the inscription. Then he went off to write a letter, and Guy, with a regretful glance at the room, supposed he ought to go. "Oh no! Stay a little while," said Pauline. "Look, it's raining again." It was only a shower through which the declining sun was lancing silver rays. As they watched it from the window without speaking, Pauline wondered if she ought to have given so frank an invitation to stay longer. Would Margaret have frowned? And how odd Guy was this afternoon. Why did he keep looking at her so intently as if about to speak, and then turn away with a sigh and nothing said? "I do love this room," said Guy at last. "I love it, too," Pauline agreed. "May I ask you something?" "Yes, of course." "You spoke to Margaret the other day about some one called Richard. Do you like him very much?" "Yes, of course. Only you mustn't ask me about him. Please don't. I've promised Margaret I wouldn't talk about him. Please, please, don't ask me any more." "But leaving Margaret out of it, do you like him ... well ... very much better than me, for instance?"