"You're to take Veronica into dinner," she said, leading the way to the drawing-room. He should have said something polite in response, but he walked like a stick at the side of the girl, tongue-tied, and furious at his own stupidity. He had never known his self-possession to desert him in this manner. Even Muriel had not left him speechless. Here, he began a comparison with Muriel, and felt a twinge of disloyalty. Of course he was not disloyal---and disloyal to what? But the thought perturbed, with the result that Miss Veronica Chase, used to adoration, found the good-looking youth at her side very dull, despite his romantic appearance. The entrance of Teddie with "Hello, Veronica old thing!" relieved the tension, and by the time they were seated at dinner, John had found his tongue. He had asked her if she lived thereabouts, when followed a minute description of their old manor house, with one of the thousands of beds which that poor restless queen, Elizabeth, was reported to have slept on. "Why don't you and Teddie came over to-morrow for tea? It's only two miles from here." "I should like to very much," said John. What an enchanting little hand she had; he watched the thin fingers as they played with a fork. When she turned to speak to Teddie, he took the opportunity to study her profile, fascinated by the beautiful curve of her neck, the little pink ear, half clouded in a curl, the mouth--with its pensive corners. This is perfection, thought John. "_Ah, Boy, it is a dream for life too high, It is a bird that hath no feet for earth: Strange wings, strange eyes, go seek another sky, And find thy fellows of an equal birth._" --He recalled Richard le Gallienne's lines. And the real John disappeared that night--he was a creature of mono-syllables, and Marsh had no flint on which to strike the sparks of his wit. He realised that John had been swamped in the flood of Beauty, and gallantly came to the rescue. True, John emerged somewhat in the drawing-room, and to-night, he sang readily and well, his effort being repaid by Veronica's "you sing beautifully--I could listen all night," although she jarred somewhat slightly by adding, "Do you know any comic songs?" Though he abhorred them, John would gayly have responded, and made a note to add a comic song to his repertoire. The end of the evening came all too soon; the car waited outside to bear her away. The two boys lingered round it while the chauffeur tucked the rugs about his young mistress. Then she went with a farewell wave of the hand and a musical "Good night," which John, standing there in the porch, heard drift up to the star-light. "Are you going to stand there forever, O stricken heart?" asked Marsh. "I want to fasten this door--and bar Love out." John went in. Upstairs, in their room, he was silent. "Scissors, you poor impressionable young calf, I hope you're not going to pine away in the night." "Oh shut up!"