"You must see that they are good, or you wouldn't have accepted them so soon. I thought it would have taken me at least an hour to get you to consent. But no--ten minutes of earnest reflection are enough to settle the luckless Harry's little hash. You're quite right--he doesn't deserve more! I am pleased with myself, I own. I must have a very convincing manner." "Oh," she cried passionately, "I daresay you think you've been very clever. But I wish you knew what I think of you. And I'd tell you for twopence." "I'm a poor man, gentle lady--won't you tell me for love?" His voice was soft and pleading beneath the laugh that stung her. "Yes, I _will_ tell you--for nothing," she cried. "You're a brute, and a hateful, interfering, disagreeable, impertinent old thing, and I only hope you'll have someone be as horrid to you as you've been to me, that's all!" "I think I've had that already--quite as horrid," he said grimly. "This is not the moment for compliments--but you have great powers. You are brave, and I never met anyone who could be more 'horrid,' as you call it, in smaller compass, all with one little tiny adjective. My felicitations. You _are_ clever. Come--don't be angry any more--I had to do it--you'll understand some day." "You wouldn't like it yourself," she said, softening to something in his voice. "I shouldn't have liked it at your age," he said; "sixteen--fifteen--what is it?" "I'm nineteen next birthday," she said with dignity. "And the date?" "The fifteenth of June--I don't know what you mean by asking me." "And to-day's the first of July," he said, and sighed. "Well, well!--if your Highness will allow me, I'll go and see whether your aunt's light is out, and if it is, we'll attempt the re-entrance." He went. She shivered, waiting for what felt like hours. And the resentment against her aunts grew faint in the light of her resentment against her lover's messenger, and this, in its turn, was outshone by her anger against her lover. He had played cricket. He had risked his life--on the very day whose evening should have crowned that life by giving her to his arms. She set her teeth. Then she yawned and shivered again. It was an English July, and very cold. And the slow minutes crept past. What a fool she had been! Why had she not made a fight for her liberty--for her right to see Harry if she chose to see him? The aunts would never have stood up against a well-planned, determined, disagreeable resistance. In the light of this doctor's talk the whole thing did seem cowardly, romantic, and, worst of all, insufferably young. Well--to-morrow everything should change; she would fight for her Love, not merely run away to him. But the promise? Well, Harry was Harry, and a promise was only a promise! There were footsteps in the lane. The man was coming back to her. She rose. "It's all right," he said. "Come." In silence they walked down the lane. Suddenly he stopped.