‘I’d prefer half an hour first with her son—_not_ in a motor on the open road! Darling, give me time to feel more at home.’ His eyes sought hers. ‘I’m agreeable. We’ll stop at the gate and go up through the wood. I can fetch the car afterwards. No superfluous attendants these days!’ On a cushion of moss in the cool of the pine-wood, they recaptured the atmosphere of Scotland and the little cloud of estrangement melted away. Mark, who had keenly felt the momentary jar, was the more relieved. ‘Now, my darling girl, time’s up,’ he said; reluctant, but inflexible, ‘Mother will be picturing us wrecked on the road, and sending poor old Keith to pick up the pieces! Come.’ At that, she knelt upright, and, with a charmingly tender air of proprietorship, passed her hands over his head, bringing them to rest on his shoulders. ‘I’m glad I’ve found you again,’ she said. ‘That strange man at the station rather alarmed me.’ ‘_You_ knew how to conjure him away, you witch!’ he answered, stopping her lips with a kiss. She accepted the kiss, but not his tacit dismissal of the subject. For her, a new sensation not analysed was a sensation wasted. ‘I suppose it was that things hadn’t time to crystallise properly after the break,’ she went on, twisting a button between her finger and thumb. ‘I hope the War Office will be merciful and allow us a good spell this time. Separations are rather uncanny things. You never quite know⸺’ ‘Well, if you don’t know me when I get back this evening,’ he said, with perfect gravity, ‘the marriage that has been arranged, etc., had better not take place.’ ‘Mark!’ Her voice had a sharp, startled note. ‘That’ll learn you!’ he retorted, smiling. ‘We’ll make out our “para” to-morrow.’ And he heard no more of the subject. They found Lady Forsyth alone in the drawing-room reading her midday post. ‘My dears!’ She sprang up to greet them. ‘We’ve been wondering what had come to you.’ Mark explained, asked a few questions, backed casually towards the door—and vanished, leaving the women alone. Bel had resolved that there should be neither awkwardness nor hesitation. Already she had rehearsed the little scene half a dozen times; and as the door closed, she turned to the small, upright figure near the piano, both hands flung out. ‘Dear Lady Forsyth, you _are_ going to forgive me, aren’t you? I know I don’t deserve it. But Mark has been so beautifully generous⸺’ ‘That is easier for him than for his mother,’ Lady Forsyth rejoined with her disconcerting frankness: but her smile made partial atonement and she took the proffered hands. ‘Not that I’m belittling Mark’s generosity. It takes a just man to be generous even in exasperating circumstances; and Mark possesses that rare quality in a high degree. He particularly wants us all to make light of the whole matter; and—to please him, Bel, I can at least condone what I can’t pretend to understand.’