“He couldn’t!” Jean had interrupted impulsively. “Couldn’t he? You don’t know Adrian.... And I can’t afford to lose you, Jean. You’re one of my few comforts in life. Promise me”--she caught Jean’s hands in hers and held them tightly--“_promise me_ that you will do nothing--that you won’t try to interfere? I can generally manage; him--more or less. And when I can’t, why, I have to put up with the consequences of my own bad management”--with a smile that was more sad than tears. With an effort of will Jean tried to banish the recollection of Sir Adrian from her thoughts. The picture of his thin, leaden-hued face, with its cruel mouth and furtive, suspicious eyes, was out of harmony with this soft day of spring. She wished she had not let the thought of him intrude upon her pleasant reverie at all. His sinister figure seemed to cast a shadow over the sunlit river, a shadow which grew bigger and bigger, blurring the green of the trees and the sky’s faint blue, and even silencing the comfortable little chirrups of the birds, busy with their spring housekeeping. At least, Jean couldn’t hear them any longer, and she took no notice even when one enterprising young cock-bird hopped near enough to filch a feather that was sticking out invitingly from the corner of the cushion behind her head. The next thing she was conscious of was of sitting up with great suddenness, under the impression that she had overslept and that the housemaid was calling to her very loudly to waken her. Someone _was_ calling--shouting lustily, in fact, and collecting her sleep-bemused faculties, she realised that instead of being securely moored against the bank her boat was rocking gently in mid-stream, and that the occupant of another boat, coming from the opposite direction, was doing his indignant best to attract her attention, since just at that point the river was too narrow for them to pass one another unless each pulled well in towards the bank. Jean reached hastily for her sculls, only to find, to her intense astonishment, that they had vanished as completely as though they had never existed. She cast a rapid glance of dismay around her, scanning the surface of the water in her vicinity for any trace of them. But there was none. She was floating serenely down the middle of the stream, perfectly helpless to pull out of the way of the oncoming boat. Meanwhile its occupant was calling out instructions--tempering his wrath with an irritable kind of politeness as he perceived that the fool whose craft blocked the way was of the feminine persuasion. “Pull in a bit, please. We can’t pass here if you don’t.... Pull in!” he yelled rather more irately as Jean’s boat still remained in the middle of the river, drifting placidly towards him. She flung up her hand. “_ I cant!_” she shouted back. “I’ve lost my sculls!” “Lost your sculls?” The man’s tones sufficiently implied what he thought of the proceeding.