"In about ten minutes," replied Annan firmly. Then he went back and looked into Ogilvy's room. Sam was seated, his head clasped in his hands. "I thought you _might_ tear up your sheets and let yourself out of the window," said Annan sarcastically. "You're a fine specimen! Why you're actually lantern-jawed with fright. But I don't care! Come on; we're expected to tea! Get into your white flannels and pretty blue coat and put on your dinkey rah-rah, and follow me. Or, by heaven!--I'll do murder right now!" Ogilvy's knees wavered as they entered the gateway. "Go on!" hissed Annan, giving him a violent shove. Then, to Ogilvy, came that desperate and hysterical courage that comes to those whose terrors have at last infuriated them. "By jinks!" he said with an unearthly smile, "I _will_ come on!" And he did, straight through the door and into the pretty living room where Hélène d'Enver rose in some slight consternation to receive this astonishingly pale and rather desperate-faced young man. "Harry," said Ogilvy, calmly retaining Hélène's hand, "you go and play around the yard for a few moments. I have something to tell the Countess d'Enver; and then we'll all have tea." "Mr. Ogilvy!" she said, amazed. But Annan had already vanished; and she looked into a pair of steady eyes that suddenly made her quail. "Hélène," he said, "I really do love you." [Illustration: "'I am scared blue. That's why I'm holding on to your hand so desperately.'"] "Please--" "No! I love you! Are you going to let me?" "I--how on earth--what a perfectly senseless--" "I know it. I'm half senseless from fright. Yes, I am, Hélène! Now! here! at this very minute, I am scared blue. That's why I'm holding on to your hand so desperately; I'm afraid to let go." She flushed brightly with annoyance, or something or other--but he held fast to her hand and put one arm around her waist. "Sam!" she said, exasperated. That was the last perfectly coherent word she uttered for several minutes. And, later, she was too busy to say very much. * * * * * When Annan returned, Hélène rose from the couch where she and Ogilvy had been seated and came across the floor, blushing vividly. "I don't know what on earth you think of me, Mr. Annan, and I suppose I will have to learn to endure the consequences of Mr. Ogilvy's eccentricities--" "Oh, I'm terribly glad!" said Annan, grinning, and taking her hand in both of his. They had tea on the veranda. Ogilvy was too excited and far too happy to be dignified, and Hélène was so much embarrassed by his behaviour and so much in love that she made a distractingly pretty picture between the two young men who, as Rita had said, would never, never be old enough to grow up.