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long ride together and she had talked to him quite a lot—surely she had done her duty. And he did not fit in to her idea of the garden by moonlight at all.)

But he persisted. “I’ll get you a wrap. It’s not cold really, and we need not stay long. Do come.”

She came. It was really worth it. The roses were dewy and scented; the moon shone from a clear, mild sky, and the view across the sloping fields to a long, low range of hills was softened to an almost magic beauty. Pamela stood, her head upraised, her lips parted, drinking it in. She had completely forgotten Power, and would have been startled enough if he had spoken. He did not speak, but he moved forward suddenly, flung both his arms round her, held her tightly, and kissed first her white throat, then her eyes, and finally her innocent child’s mouth. She would have screamed if there had been time, but he took her breath away, and it seemed an eternity before she gasped a strangled word or two.

“Oh, you———! How dare you! Let me go—at once!”

He only laughed, and kissed her again. If his passion frightened her, her own anger seemed a greater and more violent thing. If she had had a knife in her hand and strength to use it she would most certainly have struck at Power and hoped to kill him. As it was, she could not even struggle, he held her so closely; but presently she freed her hands and pushed him from her with all her might. That surprised him. In his excitement he really had not noticed that there was more than the correct amount of protest in her cry. He let her go now, since she evidently desired some sort of explanation. She looked adorable—he wondered he had kept his head so long—surely she was not going to make a fuss.

She did not attempt to run away. She swayed a little, then stood still, facing him, both hands clenched upon her breast. Her eyes were blue flames.