"Perhaps I am. But it's a madness you can't cure." And springing to her feet, she sent a call across the lawn—"Peter!" A slim boy who was walking beside the "babe" of seventeen, some distance away, turned sharply at the sound, and running across the grass pulled up in front of Helena.
"Well?—here I am."
"Shall we go and look at the lake? You might pull me about a little."
"Ripping!" said the youth joyously. "Won't you want a cloak?"
"No—it's so hot. Shall we ask Miss Luton?"
Peter made a face.
"Why should we?"
Helena laughed, and they went off together in the direction of a strip of silver under distant trees on which the moon was shining.
French walked away towards the girlish figure now deserted.
Helena watched him out of the corner of her eyes, saw the girl's eager greeting, and the disappearance of the two in the woody walk that bordered the lawn. Then she noticed a man sitting by himself not far away, with a newspaper on his knee.