“I tried and tried, Stephen, but she would come. I’m awfully sorry!”

“I know, darling. She’s damnably determined. Thank God she doesn’t inflict herself upon us often!”

Elizabeth heaved a sigh of relief; Stephen heard it.

“Were you afraid of an outburst from me, ’Lisbeth?”

“Oh, no!” she said quickly. “Of course not!”

A shadow crossed his face. With studied lightness, he said,

“That’s an ’horrible story, ’Lisbeth. You were.”

His smile made it less hard for her to be frank.

“Yes, I suppose I was.”

The shadow disappeared; Stephen went to her. She thought he was going to kiss her, and instinctively she drew back. In an instant she had recovered herself, but it was too late. Stephen returned to his desk. Elizabeth had a fleeting glimpse of his face; the sternness about his mouth, his tight-shut lips and sad eyes made her ashamed and miserable. She rose, and out of pity went to him. He looked up, and blushing, she kissed him lightly, on his forehead.

A hand took her wrist firmly; Stephen looked into her eyes.

“Elizabeth—was that—love—or—just—duty?”

She could not answer him in words. After a moment he released her.

“I see. Don’t—do it again, dear. There’s a limit to what I can stand. I’d rather have—nothing—than—your loveless kisses.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He tried to sound cheerful.

“We won’t try to force it, ’Lisbeth, will we?”

Mr. Hengist came to stay with them. Elizabeth drove to the station to meet him in her pony-trap, a gift from Stephen.

“Hullo!” he grunted. “You look Father different from when last I saw you, young lady.”

“Was I an awful wreck?” she smiled.

“A miserable, skinny little fool,” he said honestly.

Elizabeth laughed.

“If you’re going to be rude I shan’t drive you home in my beautiful trap,” she threatened. “Stephen gave it me. Isn’t it lovely? The pony’s name is Timothy, warranted not to shy or bolt.”

“I’m glad of that,” Mr. Hengist said, climbing into the trap. “I’m not so young as I was.”

“Oh, but he does!” Elizabeth said. “He’s perfectly dreadful, but I don’t think he means to be naughty. Anyway, he’s a darling. Wasn’t it nice of Stephen to give him to me?”

“Very. You’re more lucky than you know.”

She looked at him gravely.

“No, Mr. Hengist.”

“No? Glad to hear it then.”

“I haven’t lived in a Baker Street lodging-house for nearly a year without learning to appreciate—things like this.”

“Excellent,” said Mr. Hengist. He then remarked, “I like your husband.”

“Yes, so do I,” Elizabeth said calmly.

Stephen was awaiting them in the garden, with the tea. He shook hands with Mr. Hengist very warmly.