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“I must be naturally bad,” she reproached herself, as she went back to the chops and tomatoes.

When Harley entered the breakfast-room she was putting unnecessary finishing touches to the table arrangement. She did not turn. He stood with his back against the closed door, his hands behind him. He had changed his attire and was strikingly handsome. His eyes were sparkling; his lips were smiling, revealing a narrow line of white teeth; his dark brown hair gleamed in natural short waves; his pallor gave him an appearance of refinement which was the antithesis of his thoughts.

Patricia felt his hungry gaze upon her and coloured slowly.

“Pat!”

She turned slowly and looked at him.

“What are we having for breakfast?” he asked softly.

“Chops and tomatoes,” she answered unsteadily. “That’s all we have in the house.”

The tete-a-tete meal in the gently deepening twilight of that perfect summer day was a rather hysterical affair. The world-defying lovers laughed self-consciously at small mishaps and childish innuendo, and professed to doubt each other’s love because of the rapid disappearance of the chops and tomatoes. They passed viands to each other with exaggerated courtesy, and found unflagging amusement in addressing each other by their surnames. When he spilled a little salt upon the tablecloth she insisted that he throw a little over his left shoulder to appease the god of luck. He charged her with ignoring the butter-knife on two occasions. They repeatedly told each other that this was the most satisfying meal of their whole lives.

They quarrelled laughingly over the number of