It was very warm, and they had come into the cooler house after tea to look at a book that Gerald wanted to show her.

It had proved to be not much of a book after all, and even while standing with him in the library, while he turned the musty leaves for her and pointed out the funny old illustrations he had been telling her of, Althea had felt that the book was only a pretext for getting her away to himself.

He had led her back to the drawing-room and he had said, 'Don't let's go out again, it's much nicer here.

Please sit here and talk to me.' It was just the hour, just such an afternoon as that on which poor Franklin had arrived; Althea thought of that as she and Gerald sat down on the same little sofa where she and Franklin had sat.

And, in a swift flash of association, she remembered that Franklin had wanted to kiss her, and had kissed her.