'Oh yes, my mind is quite made up,' he replied, with a laugh.

'And won't you tell me?'

'Tell you? Ah, about lunch. No, I shall not be back.'

'You won't? Oh, I am sorry.'

'Why are you sorry, indistinguishable little maiden?' he asked, drawing
out one of her curls between his fingers, and letting it spring back
again into its circling beauty.

'We thought it would be so nice, we four at lunch.'

'I am warned to avoid you. The tone of conversation would try my weak
head; I am not capable yet of intellectual effort.'

The little girl looked at him with puzzled eyes.

'Well, it can't be helped,' she said. 'I must go back to my lessons.'

She ran off, and Wilfrid went up to his dressing-room. When he came
down, Oberon was pawing the gravel before the door. He mounted and rode
away.

His spirits, which at first seemed to suffer some depression, took
vigour once more from the air of the downs. He put Oberon at a leap or
two, then let the breeze sing in his ears as he was borne at a gallop
over the summer land, golden with sunlight. In spite of his still worn
look, health was manifest in the upright vigour of his form, and in his