“Pray do not overlook me,” said Mr. Allport, rising and bowing. “Well! I did not see you! Fancy your sitting in the twilight chatting with the mater. You must have been an unscrupulous bore, maman.” “On the contrary,” replied Mr. Allport, “Mrs. MacNair has been so good as to bear with me making a fool of myself.” “In what way?” asked Vera sharply. “Mr. Allport is so despondent. I think he must be in love,” said Beatrice playfully. “Unfortunately, I am not—or at least I am not yet aware of it,” said Mr. Allport, bowing slightly to Vera. She advanced and stood in the bay of the window, her skirt touching the young man’s knees. She was tall and graceful. With her hands clasped behind her back she stood looking up at the moon, now white upon the richly darkening sky. “Don’t look at the moon, Miss MacNair, it’s all rind,” said Mr Allport in melancholy mockery. “Somebody’s bitten all the meat out of our slice of moon, and left us nothing but peel.” “It certainly does look like a piece of melon-shell—one portion,” replied Vera. “Never mind, Miss MacNair,” he said, “Whoever got the slice found it raw, I think.” “Oh, I don’t know,” she said. “But isn’t it a beautiful evening? I will just go and see if I can catch the primroses opening.” “What primroses?” he exclaimed. “Evening primroses—there are some.” “Are there?” he said in surprise. Vera smiled to herself. “Yes, come and look,” she said. The young man rose with alacrity. Mr Holiday came into the dining-room whilst they were down the garden. “What, nobody in!” they heard him exclaim. “There is Holiday,” murmured Mr Allport resentfully. Vera did not answer. Holiday came to the open window, attracted by the fragrance. “Ho! that’s where you are!” he cried in his nasal tenor, which annoyed Vera’s trained ear. She wished she had not been wearing a white dress to betray herself. “What have you got?” he asked. “Nothing in particular,” replied Mr Allport. Mr Holiday sniggered. “Oh, well, if it’s nothing particular and private—” said Mr Holiday, and with that he leaped over the window-sill and went to join them. “Curst fool!” muttered Mr Allport. “I beg your pardon,” he added swiftly to Vera. “Have you ever noticed, Mr Holiday,” asked Vera, as if very friendly, “how awfully tantalizing these flowers are? They won’t open while you’re looking.” “No,” sniggered he, I don’t blame ’em. Why should they give themselves away any more than you do? You won’t open while you’re watched.” He nudged Allport facetiously with his elbow. After supper, which was late and badly served, the young men were in poor spirits. Mr MacWhirter retired to read. Mr Holiday sat picking his teeth; Mr. Allport begged Vera to play the piano. “Oh, the piano is not my instrument; mine was the violin, but I do not play now,” she replied. “But you will begin again,” pleaded Mr. Allport.