She smiled gratefully and looked up into his face with large, tender eyes. "Sometimes," she said, "beauty makes me want to cry, not to laugh. Last night, in the garden, everything was so lovely, and yet so sad. Don't you think beautiful things are sad sometimes?"--She paused and went on, with less excitement: "When I went in, about ten o'clock, I was so miserable I went in the dining-room to be alone. I was crying and father came in." "Well?" he whispered, eagerly. "He wanted to know what was the matter." "And you told him about Clare's father, I suppose?" "No," she answered. "Don't be angry," she pleaded, laying a hand on his arm. "I don't know what made me do it--I suppose it was instinct. Anyway, you were going to, soon, even if I hadn't. I--I told father about--us!" "You did?" "Yes. Don't be angry with me." "My darling, I'm not angry with you. What did he say?" She came so close to him that he could feel her body trembling with emotion. "He didn't mind," she whispered. "He didn't mind at all. Kenneth, aren't you glad?--Isn't it fine of him?" "Glorious!" he answered, taking a deep breath. Again the tide of joy seemed to engulf him, joy immense and stupefying. He would have taken her in his arms and kissed her had he not seen people coming along the lane. "It's wonderful, Helen!" he whispered. Then some secondary thought seemed to strike him suddenly: he said: "But why were you miserable a little while ago? Didn't the good news make you feel happy?" She answered, still with a touch of sadness: "I didn't know whether you would think it was good news."--"Helen!" he exclaimed, remonstratively, clasping her tightly to him: she went on, smiling at him: "Yes, it's silly of me, isn't it?--But Kenneth, Kenneth, I don't know how it is, I'm never quite certain of you--there's always a funny sort of fear in my mind! I know it's silly. I can't help it, though. Perhaps it will all be different some day." "Some day!" he echoed, gazing into her uplifted eyes. A vision, secret and excruciatingly lovely, filled their eyes for a moment. He knew then that to marry her had become his blinding and passionate ambition. V The _Millstead and District Advertiser_ had a long and sympathetic appreciation of the late Mr. Samuel Harrington in its first July issue. The Helping-Hand-Books were described as "pleasant little homilies written with much charm and humour." Speed took one or two of them out of the School Library and read them.