The annual flower-show at Fairharbour was one of the chief events of the district, and entailed such a gathering of the County as Vera Fielding would not for worlds have missed. It also entailed the donning of beautiful garments which was an even greater attraction than the first.

She had not been well during the sultry weather that had prevailed throughout the early part of June, and Fielding had been considering the advisability of taking her away for a change. But though her energy for many of the amusements which she usually followed with zest had waned with the lassitude that hot weather had brought upon her, she had set her heart upon attending the flower-show, and, in obedience to the new policy which Juliet by every means in her power persuaded him to pursue, the squire had somewhat impatiently yielded the point. The show was to take place in the grounds of Burchester Park. It was an immense affair, and everyone of any importance was sure to attend.

Juliet herself would gladly have stayed away, but Mrs. Fielding, partly as a natural consequence of her poor health and chiefly from a selfish desire to feel herself an object of solicitude, would not hear of leaving her behind. As Dick had predicted, she had come to lean upon Juliet, and her dependence became every day more pronounced. At times she was even childishly exacting, and though Juliet still maintained her right to direct her own movements, she found her liberty considerably curtailed.

If she went down to the shore with Robin she usually met with a querulous, and sometimes tearful, reception on her return, and though she steadily refused to admit that there was any reason on Vera's part for assuming this attitude, it influenced her none the less. Moreover, Vera could be genuinely pathetic upon occasion, and there was no disputing the fact that she stood in need of care—such care as only a woman could give.

"I don't want a nurse," she would say plaintively. "I only want companionship and sympathy. Motoring is my only consolation, and I can't go motoring alone."

And then the squire would draw her aside and beg her to bear with Vera's whims as far as possible since loneliness depressed her and she was the only person he knew whose company did not either tire her out or irritate her beyond endurance. It was not an easy position, but Juliet filled it to the best of her ability and with no small self-sacrifice.

Yet in a sense it made her life the simpler, for she was still at that difficult stage when it is easier to stand still than to go forward. She saw Green when he came to the house, but they had not been alone together since the morning on the shore when her love had betrayed her. She had a feeling that he was biding his time. He had promised to be patient, and she knew he would keep his promise. Also, his time, like hers, was very fully occupied. Till the holidays came he would not have much liberty, and in her secret soul Juliet was thankful that this was so. For the present it was enough for her to hold this new joy close, close to her heart, to gaze upon it only in solitude,—a gift most precious upon which no other eyes might look. It was enough for her to feel the tight grasp of his hand when they met, to catch for an instant the quick gleam of understanding in his glance, the sudden flash of that smile which was for her alone. These things thrilled her with a gladness so strangely sweet that there were times when she marvelled at herself, and sometimes, trembling, wondered if it could possibly last. For nought in life had ever before shone so golden as this perfect dream. The very atmosphere she breathed was subtly charged with its essence. She was absurdly, superbly happy.

"I believe this place suits you," the squire said to her once. "You look years younger than when you came."

She received the compliment with her low, soft laugh. "I am—years younger," she said.

He gave her a sharp look. "You are happy here? Not sorry you came?"

"Oh, not in the least sorry," said Juliet.

He nodded. "That's all right. You've done Vera a lot of good. She's getting almost docile. But as soon as this flower-show business is over, I want you to use all your influence to get her away. We'll go North and see if we can get a little strength into her." Again he looked at her shrewdly. "You won't mind coming too?"

"But of course not," said Juliet. "I shall love it."

He was on his way out of the room, but a sudden thought seemed to strike him and he lingered. "Shall I make Green come to the flower-show with us?" he asked.

"I shouldn't," said Juliet quietly. "He probably wouldn't have time, and certainly Mrs. Fielding wouldn't want him."

He frowned. "Would you like him?" he asked abruptly.

"I?" She met his look with a baffling smile. "Oh, don't ask him on my account! I am quite happy without a cavalier in attendance."

And Fielding went out, looking dissatisfied. But when the day arrived and they were on the point of departure he surprised them both by the sudden announcement that Green was to be picked up at the gates. It was a Saturday afternoon, and for once he was at liberty.

"Oh, really, Edward!" Mrs. Fielding protested. "Now you've spoilt everything!"

"On the contrary," smiled the squire. "I have merely completed the party."

"I'm sure Miss Moore doesn't want him!" she declared petulantly.

"I am afraid Miss Moore will have to put up with him nevertheless," said
Fielding, unperturbed. "For he is coming."

"You always do your best to spoil my pleasure," Vera flung at him.

Juliet saw the squire's mouth take an ominous downward curve, but to her relief he kept his temper in check. He was driving the car himself which was an open one. Somewhat grimly he turned to Juliet. "I hope you have no objection to sharing the back-seat with Mr. Green?"

She felt her pulses give a swift leap at the question, but with a hasty effort she kept down her rising colour. "Of course not!" she said.

He gave her a brief smile of approval. "Then you will sit in front with me, Vera. That is settled. Let us have no more argument!"

"It's too bad!" Vera declared stormily on the verge of indignant tears.

"My dear," he said, "don't be silly! Has it never occurred to you that I may like to have my wife to myself occasionally?"

It evidently had not, for Vera gave him a look of sheer amazement and yielded the point as if she had no breath left for further discussion.

He settled her in her place, and tucked the rug around her with more than usual care. As he finished, she leaned forward and touched his shoulder with a slightly uncertain smile.

He glanced up. "All right?"

"Quite, thank you," she said.

And Juliet in the back-seat drew a breath of relief. The squire was becoming quite an adept at the game.

They shot down the avenue at a speed that brought them very rapidly in sight of the gates. A figure was waiting there, and again Juliet was conscious of the hard beating of her heart. Then she knew that the car was stopping, and looked forth with an impersonal smile of welcome.

He came forward, greeted the squire and Mrs. Fielding, and in a moment was getting in beside her.

"Good afternoon, Miss Moore!" he said.

She gave him her hand and felt his fingers close with a spring-like strength upon it, while his eyes laughed into hers. Then the car was in motion again, and he dropped into the seat.

"By Jove, this is a treat!" he said. "I had the greatest difficulty in the world to get away, made Ashcott take my place. It isn't a very important match, and he's a better bowler than I am anyway."

"Do you want any rug?" she said, still battling to keep back the overwhelming flush of gladness from her face.

He accepted her offer at once, and in a moment his hand had caught and imprisoned hers beneath its shelter.

She made a sharp movement to free herself, and the blush she had so valiantly resisted flamed over face and neck as she felt his hold tighten as sharply, and heard him laugh at her impotence. But he went on talking as though nothing had happened, considerately covering her agitation, and to her relief neither Fielding nor his wife looked round till it had subsided.

It was barely half-an-hour's run to Burchester Park which was thrown open to the public for the great occasion. The Castle also was open on that day, and visitors thronged thither from every quarter.

A long procession of conveyances stood outside the great iron gates of the Park, but the squire, owing to an acquaintanceship with Lord Saltash's bailiff, held a permit that enabled him to drive in. They went up the long avenue of firs that led to the great stone building, but ere they reached it the strains of a band told them that the flower-show was taking place in an open space on their right close to the entrance to the terraced gardens which occupied the southern slope in front of the house.

Fielding ran the car into a deep patch of shade beside the road, and stopped. "We had better get out here," he said.

Juliet's hand slipped free. Dick threw her a smile and jumped out.

"Will the car be all right?" he said, as he turned to help her down.

"Oh, right enough," the squire said. "There is no traffic along here."

"I am hoping to go into the house," said Vera. "But I suppose it will be crammed with people."

"We'll do the flower-show first anyhow," said Fielding.

He led the way with her, and it seemed quite natural to Juliet that Green should fall in beside her. It was a cloudless day, and she had an almost childish feeling of delight in its splendour. She was determined to enjoy herself to the utmost.

They entered the first sweltering tent and in the throng she felt again the touch of Dick's hand at he came behind. "We mustn't lose each other," he said, with a laugh.

The midsummer madness was upon her, and, without looking at him she squeezed the fingers that gripped her arm.

In a moment his voice spoke in her ear. "Look here! Let's get away! Let's get lost! It's the easiest thing in the world. We can't all hang together in this crowd."

This was quite evident. The great marquee was crammed with people, and already Fielding was piloting his wife to the opening at the other end.

"We must just look round," murmured Juliet, "for decency's sake."

"All right, my dear, look!" he said. "And when you've quite finished we'll go out by the way we came and explore the gardens."

She threw him a glance that expressed acquiescence and a certain mead of amused appreciation. For somehow Dick Green in his blue serge and straw hat managed to look smarter if less immaculate than any of the white-waistcoated band of local magnates around them. So—for decency's sake—she prowled round the tent with Dick at her shoulder, admiring everything she saw and forgetting as soon as she had admired. She told herself that it was a day of such supreme happiness as could not come twice in any lifetime, and because of it she lingered, refusing to hasten the moment for which Dick had made provision.

"Haven't you had enough of it?" he said, at last.

And she answered him with a quivering laugh. "No, not nearly. I'm spinning out every single second."

"Ah, but they won't wait," he said. "Come! I think we're safely lost now.
Let us go!"

She turned obediently from a glorious spread of gloxinias, and he made a way for her through the buzzing crowd to the entrance. When Dick spoke with the voice of authority, it was her pleasure to submit.

She felt her pulses tingle as she followed him, to be alone with him again, to feel herself encompassed by the fiery magic of his love, to yield throbbing surrender to the mastery that would not be denied. Yet when he turned to her outside in the hot sunshine with the blaring band close at hand she almost shrank away, she almost voiced a pretext for continuing their unprofitable wandering through the stifling tents. For, strangely, though he smiled at her, there was about him in that moment a quality that went near to scaring her. Something untamed, something indomitable, looked out at her from his glittering eyes. It was almost like a challenge, as if he dared her to dispute his right.

"That's better," he said, drawing a deep breath. "Now we can get away."

"We shan't get away from the people," she said.

He threw a rapid glance around. "Yes, we shall—with any luck. Come along! I know the way. There's a little landing-stage place down by the lake. We'll go there. There may even be a boat handy—if the gods are kind."

The gods were kind. They skirted the terraced gardens, which were not open to the public, and plunged down a winding walk through a shrubbery that led somewhat sharply downwards, away from the noise and the crush into cool green depths of woodland through which at last there shone up at them the gleam of water.

Juliet was panting when at length her guide paused. "My darling, what a shame!" he said. "But hang on to me! There are some steps round the corner, and they may be slippery. We'll soon be down now, and there's not a soul anywhere. Look! There's a fairy barque waiting for us!"

She caught sight of a white skiff, lying in the water close to the bank. As he had predicted, the final descent was a decided scramble, but he held her up until the mossy bank was reached; and would have held her longer, but with a little breathless laugh she released herself.

"My shoes are ruined," she remarked.

As they were of light grey suÈde, and the precipitous path they had travelled was a mixture of clay and limestone the ruin was palpable and very thorough. Dick surveyed them with compunction.

"I say, they're wet through! You must take them off at once. Get into the boat!"

"No, no!" She laughed again with more assurance. "I am not going to take them off. We couldn't dry them if I did, and I should never get them on again. Do you think we ought to get into the boat? Suppose the owner came along?"

"The owner? Lord Saltash, do you mean?" He scoffed at the idea. "Do you really imagine he would come within a hundred leagues of the place on such a day as this. No, he is probably many salt miles away in that ocean-going yacht of his. Lucky dog!"

"Oh, do you envy him?" she said.

He gave her a shrewd glance. "Not in the least. He is welcome to his yacht—and his Lady Jo—and all that is his."

"Dick!" She made a swift gesture of repudiation. "Please don't repeat that—scandal—again!"

He raised his brows with a faintly ironical smile. "Are you still giving her the benefit of the doubt?" he said. "I imagine no one else does."

The colour went out of her face. She stood quite motionless, looking not at him but at a whirl of dancing gnats on the gold-flecked water beyond him.

"She went to Paris," she said, in the tone of one asserting a fact that no one could dispute.

"So did he," said Green. "The yacht went round to Bordeaux to pick him up afterwards. I understand that he was not alone."

She turned on him in sudden anger. "Why do you repeat this horrible gossip? Where do you hear it?"

He held out his hand to her. "Juliet, I repeat it, because I want you to know—you have got to know—that she is unworthy of your friendship, and—you shall never touch pitch with my consent. I have heard it from various sources,—from Ashcott, from the agent here, Bishop, and others. My dear, you have always known her for a heartless flirt. You broke with her because she jilted the man she was about to marry. Now that she has gone to another man, surely you have done with her!"

He spoke without anger, but with a force and authority that carried far more weight. Juliet's indignation passed. But she did not touch the outstretched hand, and in a moment he bent and took hers.

"Now I've made you furious," he said.

She looked at him somewhat piteously, assaying a smile with the lips that trembled. "No, I am not furious. Only—when you talk like that you make me—rather uneasy. You see, Lady Jo and I have always been—birds of a feather."

"Don't," he said, and suddenly gripped her hand so that she gasped with pain. "Oh, did I hurt you, sweetheart? Forgive me. But I can't have you talk like that—couple yourself with that woman whose main amusement for years has been to break as many hearts as she could capture. Forget her, darling! Promise me you will! Come! We're not going to let her spoil this perfect day."

He was drawing her to him, but she sought to resist him, and even when his arms were close about her she did not wholly yield. He held her to him, but he did not press for a full surrender.

And—perhaps because of his forbearance—she presently lifted her face to his and clung to him with all her quivering strength. "Just for to-day, Dick!" she whispered tremulously. "Just for to-day!"

Their lips met upon the words. And, "For ever and ever!" he made passionate answer, as he held her to his heart.