"Then I shall write," said Kenyon, "and give you brief but eloquent descriptions of English weather, English politics and the condition of my liver,--that is to say, the three inevitable topics of this country." Belle laughed. "Then it will be perfectly safe for me to leave your letters about," she said. "Perfectly,--always supposing that you censor the postscripts." "I'm crazy about you!" said Belle; and this time her laugh awoke the echoes of the river and filled a nightingale near by with a pathetic ambition to emulate its music. And then they heard Peter's great voice shouting, "N-i-c-k!" Whereupon Kenyon gathered himself together, not unpleased at being disturbed, stood up gracefully and pulled back into the main stream. "The call of duty," he said--"such is life." It was consistent with his policy to conduct this most pleasant affair by instalments. When he saw the other punt he asked Peter, with a touch of beautiful petulance, why he had deliberately lost them, and turned a deaf ear to Graham's idiotic chuckle. The landing stage was in the shadow, which was just as well. When Kenyon gave his hand to Belle to help her out of the punt, he drew her close against him and with a touch of passion as unexpected as the sudden flash of a searchlight across a dark sky left a kiss on her lips that took her breath away. All the way back to the hotel she hung on Peter's arm and dared not trust herself to speak. For the first time in her young life she had caught a glimpse of its meaning. It left her strangely moved and thrilled. Little Mrs. Guthrie walked back with Kenyon, very proud of the fact that he was Peter's friend. Poor little mother! VIII On the steps of the Randolph Hotel, Mrs. Guthrie turned to Kenyon and asked him, with one of her most motherly smiles, to have some supper with them. Telegraphing quickly to Peter and Graham that they were not to accept the invitation, Kenyon said: "Nothing would give me greater pleasure--absolutely nothing. Unfortunately Peter and I have already accepted an invitation from two of our Dons and we cannot possibly get out of this dull but profitable hour." "How very disappointing!" said Mrs. Guthrie. "How silly!" said Belle. Betty merely said, "Oh!" but the rest of her sentence was condensed into one quick look at Peter. Peter, utterly without guile, turned round to Nicholas Kenyon in blank amazement. "It's the first I've heard of it," he said. "What on earth do you mean? Two of the Dons? Who are they?" But Kenyon was an artist and a strategist, and therefore a liar. "My dear old boy! What would you do without me? I'm your diary, your secretary, your guide, philosopher and friend. If you've forgotten the engagement I certainly haven't." And he shot at Peter a swift and subtle wink, in which he included Graham.