When the party rose from the table he joined Mark in the window: and as the two girls stood back to let Lady Forsyth pass out, she slipped an arm round each. Her love of youth and young things seemed to deepen with her own advancing years. But she had her preferences; and it was the arm round Sheila Melrose that tightened as they passed through the long drawing-room to the terrace, where coffee was set upon a low stone table in full view of the illumined lake and sky. ‘It’s splendid to have you safe back again, child,’ she said, releasing Monica Videlle and drawing Sheila down to the seat beside her. ‘India’s monopolised you quite long enough. There’s some mysterious magnetism about that country. People seem to catch it like a disease. And I was getting alarmed lest you might succumb to the infection.’ Miss Melrose smiled thoughtfully at the sunset. ‘I’m not sure that I haven’t succumbed already!’ she said in her low, clear-cut voice. ‘I have vague tempting dreams of going back with Ralph when his furlough is up; or with Mona, to help doctor her Indian women. But probably they’ll never materialise⸺’ ‘More than probably, if I have any say in the matter!’ Lady Forsyth spoke lightly, but under the lightness lurked a note of decision. She had her own private dreams concerning this girl with the softly shining eyes under level brows, and the softly resolute lips that never seemed quite to leave off smiling even in repose. At mention of India Miss Videlle’s thoughtful face came suddenly to life. ‘It would be just lovely for me,’ she said. ‘Too good to be true!’ ‘Never mind, Miss Videlle,’ Maurice consoled her almost tenderly. ‘This ripping evening’s not too good to be true. And _I_ can put you up to some tips for squaring Lady Forsyth—in strict confidence of course!’ He bent towards her with a slightly theatrical offer of his arm, and they moved off to a seat near the ivy-covered wall, looking towards the distant rapids. Lady Forsyth glanced after them with a passing twinge of concern. The girl—a fairly recent acquisition of Sheila’s—was shy and clever, with a streak of dark blood in her veins. She had done brilliantly at Oxford, and was now qualified to take up the medical work in India on which she had set her heart. Sheila had acquired her while going through a course of massage and magnetic healing, for which she showed so distinct a gift that she had serious thoughts of taking it up in earnest. A vague idea of going out with Monica had been simmering in her brain for the past week; but she had not spoken of it till to-night. ‘Wonder what’s come to old Mark,’ mused Ralph pensively, stirring his coffee. ‘Thought this picnic arrangement was all for his benefit⸺’ ‘Rather so!’ Mark’s voice answered him, as he and Macnair strolled round the corner of the house. ‘Hurry up with the coffee, Mums. I love dabbling my oars in the sunset. Lenox, old chap, you two might go on ahead and give the word.’