“Poor little will-o’-the-wisp!” he said gently. “Come and sit down. Don’t be frightened. I promise I won’t touch you.”

She drew nearer, her head tilted to one side.

“I mustn't stay. I ought to go now.”

“Oh!” Disappointment sounded in his voice. “Don’t go yet!”

“Ah, but I must! I only came to comfort you. And I have done that, haven’t I?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Yes. Funny. 1 didn’t think anything could comfort me. Are you a wizard, little lady?”

Her laugh tinkled out.

“Oh, no, I am just Bride! You’ll go back, won’t you?”

His face clouded over.

“I don’t see how I—”

“Please, please! Does it matter whose fault it was, after all?

“She may not want me to go back.”

“Oh, yes, yes! You will go—you must go!”

“She said she never wanted to set eyes on me again.”

“She didn’t mean it. Never, never!”

She shook her little head till the curls danced.

“How do you know?”

“It was just a quarrel,” she said softly. “She will be so sorry—as you are.”

An unwilling smile came to his lips.

“Oh, so you know that, too, do you?”

“Of course,” she answered gravely.

“I expect you think me a pig-headed fool.”

“No. Only mistaken. Please say you will go back. There’s so much unhappiness—so much.”

He got up, throwing away the broken twigs.

“I will go back. It’s frightfully nice of you to bother about me. You’ve helped no end. I was a fool. I knew it, really; only I had to have you point it out to me. Thanks most awfully!” He held out his hand, but she skipped away, laughing. His face fell.

“I say — aren’t you going to shake hands?”

“No. Oh, no!” Her fingers fluttered to her lips, twice. “There—and there!”

He followed her.

“I shall see you again, sha’n’t I? I’d like to tell you if it’s all right, and thank you.”

“No, I sha’n’t come again. You’re happy now, and you don’t need me. Good-bye.”

He expostulated.

“You don’t really think me such an ungrateful brute? Of course I want you.”

She smiled, shaking her head. Then she curtseyed and ran into the undergrowth. The leaves fell back into place, screening her from his sight. Once again, from a long way off, came the sound of fairy laughter. Then all was quiet.

The wood seemed desolate suddenly. Peter stood for a minute, listening. Then he sighed and went back along the cutting through which he had come.

II.

PETER was shown into the drawing-room. He went over to the window and fidgeted. Presently the door opened, and Ruth came in. She paused on the threshold, rather pale. Peter stepped forward.

“Ruth, it was all my fault! I’m awfully sorry! Can’t—can’t we be friends again?”

She gave a little cry, and ran to him.

“Oh, no, it was my fault! I don’t know what possessed me. Oh, Peter, Peter!”

She buried her face on his shoulder, half laughing, half crying, and for a long while remained so, clinging to him.