"To remember that the silence of selfish preoccupation is a privilege I have not accorded you?" "I didn't mean to be preoccupied--" "Oh, worse and worse!" She shook her head and began to thread the needle. "I see that my week's absence has not been very good for you. I knew it the moment you came in with all that guilty absent-minded effrontery which I have forbidden. Now, I suppose I shall have to recommence your subjection. Ring for tea, please. And, Susanne"--speaking in French and gathering up a fluffy heap of mended summer waists--"these might as well be sent to the laundress--thank you, little one; your sewing is always beautiful." The small maid, blushing with pleasure, left the room, both arms full of feminine apparel; Selwyn rang for tea, then strolled back to the window, where he stood with both hands thrust into his coat-pockets, staring out at the sunset. A primrose light bathed the city. Below, through the new foliage of the Park, the little lake reflected it in tints of deeper gold and amber where children clustered together, sailing toy ships. But there was no wind; the tiny sails and flags hung motionless, and out and in, among the craft becalmed, steered a family of wild ducks, the downy yellow fledglings darting hither and thither in chase of gnats, the mother bird following in leisurely solicitude. And, as he stood there, absently intent on sky and roof and foliage, her soft bantering voice aroused him; and turning he found her beside him, her humorous eyes fixed on his face. "Suppose," she said, "that we go back to first principles and resume life properly by shaking hands. Shall we?" He coloured up as he took her hand in his; then they both laughed at the very vigorous shake. "What a horribly unfriendly creature you _can_ be," she said. "Never a greeting, never even a formal expression of pleasure at my return--" "You have not _returned_!" he said, smiling; "you have been with me every moment, Eileen."