That was all, and then the two silk-hatted, frock-coated men had got out. Eminently well-to-do men—probably both stockbrokers, but men who looked as if they would know. Hal had gone on home in a sudden torment of feeling. Of course he was free to marry the heiress if be wished, but why, if so, had he dared once again to drop the mask of companiable friendliness with her and grow lover-like? The change had been coming slowly of late, wrought with infinite caution and care. He had not meant to frighten her again, and find himself in disgrace, so he had taken each step very leisurely, and made sure of his ground before trusting himself upon it. The next time he kissed her, he had determined she should like it too well to resent his action. And the safe moment, as he deemed it, had come the previous Saturday after a delightful afternoon at golf. They had motored down to the Sundridge Park Links, and stayed afterwards to dine at the club-house, then back to Bloomsbury, and into the pretty sitting-room, where Dudley was not likely to appear until late, because he had gone to a theatre with Doris. And then for the second time he had kissed her. But this was quite a different kiss. It was a climax to one of the best days he had ever had—a day in which, besides playing golf, they had talked of State secrets and State affairs. He had paid her the compliment of talking to her as if she were a man, and Hal, being exceptionally well informed on most questions of the day, was able to hold her own with him, and to make the conversation of genuine interest. And his quick, observant brain greatly admired her power of argument, and her woman’s directness of method, confirming the view that while a man usually indulges in a good deal of preamble, with many doubts and side-lights, a woman trusts to her instinct and arrives at the same conclusion in half the time. Of late, too, he had talked to her of interesting modern problems; and what had been frivolous in their earlier friendship had solidified into a real companionship. And now as he stood on the hearth with his back to the fire, looking with rather critical eyes round the pretty room that Hal had contrived to rob of nearly all its lodging-house aspect, she stood quite naturally and unconcernedly beside him drawing off her gloves. “It was a good game,” she was saying, “if you had not messed up that sixth hole. It’s a brute, isn’t it. I was lucky to escape that marshy bit.” “You are getting too good for me. Your drives out-classed mine nearly every time.” “But I can’t approach. I never, never, shall be able to hit a ball just far enough. If I loft on to the green at all it is always the far side, with a roll.” “You’ll soon master that. A little more practice, and you’ll be in form for matches. I think we’ll have to go away somewhere and have a fortnight’s golfing! Why not to some little French place? You would finish up a first-class player.” Hal laughed lightly.