‘Hush,’ said Gundred, but not sternly. ‘It really would put the table out. And papa is so particular. Besides’--she faltered for a moment--‘besides, Kingston dear, I--I don’t want you to see too much of me before we are married. You might--you might get tired of me, you see.’ She raised her eyes and looked full into his. In the smiling depths of her gaze might have been seen the whole truth. Sedate, restrained, correct, she loved her choice with a passion that no one was allowed to guess from the cool suavity of her usual demeanour. Only in stolen flashes of privacy such as this was even Kingston permitted to realize his triumph. Gundred lived, as a rule, in public; every gesture, every inflection, was calculated to satisfy that pervasive invisible arbiter whose approval confirms its object’s title to ‘good form.’ Few and brief were the moments in which she consented to be, in body and spirit, alone with her lover. And rarely had he time to grasp the concession, before the blessed instant passed and Gundred slipped back into her cool, normal self, hastily evasive, as if frightened of her own self-revelation. So it was now. He heard her murmured words on the cool, dim landing, saw the look in her eyes, and realized her meaning. But as he caught at her hands, and broke into a hot protest, the mask flew back on to the girl’s face again. She reclaimed her hands and busied herself in putting on her gloves. It was the polite, public Gundred that stood before him. To his contrast with her public self, so self-contained and orderly, was due half the sweetness and the charm of that shy wood-nymph soul that only allowed itself to peep out at him so timidly and rarely. He saw that the moment was over. ‘You are so demonstrative,’ said Gundred calmly. ‘And putting on one’s gloves is a serious matter. One cannot do two things at once. And, oh, dear me! I have never said good-bye to your mother.’ She slipped quickly back into the drawing-room before he could stop her, and, as he remained outside, playing disconcertedly with the tassel of her parasol, he heard the well-known clear level tones taking a daughterly farewell of Lady Adela. Then Mrs. Mimburn emerged in such a roaring surf of silk petticoats that other sounds became indistinguishable. She squeezed her nephew’s hand. ‘A thousand congratulations,’ she whispered. ‘Charming, charming! Just the sort of girl that pays for marrying. You will wake her up. She will be quite a different creature when you have been married a little while. I know that sleeping-beauty type of girl.’ Mrs. Mimburn smiled darkly upon him, and put a world of knowledge into her glance. But she had not time to say more, for Gundred now appeared, and the two women descended the stairs, exchanging civilities. Kingston followed, to see them safely tucked into Mrs. Mimburn’s elaborate victoria.