Helen got upon her feet, straightening her hat and putting back her hair.

It was time to be going homewards.

They went down the path and climbed over the palings, and it was on the hill-top that Helen said, looking far ahead of her, far over the now visible roofs of Merriston: 'I've known Gerald Digby all my life, and I know Althea, now, quite well.

And if Gerald is to be the lucky man I'd like to say, for him, you know--and I think it ought to set your mind at rest--that I think Althea will be quite as lucky as he will be, and that I think that he is worthy of her.' Franklin kept his eyes on her as she spoke, and though she did not meet them, her far gaze, fixed ahead, seemed in its impersonal gravity to commune with him, for his consolation, more than an answering glance would have done.

She was giving him her word for something, and the very fact that she kept it impersonal, held it there before them both, made it more weighty and more final.