And while he walked by May’s side past the bowling-greens at the summit of the hill, she lightly quizzing the raw newness of the park and its appurtenances, he wondered, he honestly wondered, that he could ever have hesitated between May Lawton and the other.  Her superiority was too obvious; she was a woman of the world!  She....  In a flash he knew that he would propose to her that very afternoon.  And when he had suggested a stroll towards Moorthorne, and she had deliciously agreed, he was conscious of a tumultuous uplifting and splendid carelessness of spirits.  ‘Imagine me bringing it to a climax to-day,’ he reflected, profoundly pleased with himself.  ’Ah well, it will be settled once for all!’ He admired his own decision; he was quite struck by it.  ’I shall call her May before I leave her,’ he thought, gazing at her, and discovering how well the name suited her, with its significances of alertness, geniality, and half-mocking coyness.

‘So school is closed,’ he said, and added humorously:  ’"Broken up” is the technical term, I believe.’

‘Yes,’ she answered, ’and I had walked out into the park to meditate seriously upon the question of my holiday.’

She caught his eye in a net of bright glances, and romance was in the air.  They had crossed a couple of smoke-soiled fields, and struck into the old Hanbridge road just below the abandoned toll-house with its broad eaves.

‘And whither do your meditations point?’ he demanded playfully.

‘My meditations point to Switzerland,’ she said.  ’I have friends in Lausanne.’

The reference to foreign climes impressed him.

‘Would that I could go to Switzerland too!’ he exclaimed; and privately:  ‘Now for it!  I’m about to begin.’

‘Why?’ she questioned, with elaborate simplicity.

At the moment, as they were passing the toll-house, the other girl appeared surprisingly from round the corner of the toll-house, where the lane from Toft End joins the highroad.  This second creature was smaller than Miss Lawton, less assertive, less intelligent, perhaps, but much more beautiful.

Everyone halted and everyone blushed.

‘May!’ the interrupter at length stammered.

‘May!’ responded Miss Lawton lamely.

The other girl was named May too—­May Deane, child of the well-known majolica manufacturer, who lived with his sons and daughter in a solitary and ancient house at Toft End.

Lionel Woolley said nothing until they had all shaken hands—­his famous way with women seemed to have deserted him—­and then he actually stated that he had forgotten an appointment, and must depart.  He had gone before the girls could move.

When they were alone, the two Mays fronted each other, confused, hostile, almost homicidal.

‘I hope I didn’t spoil a tete-a-tete,’ said May Deane, stiffly and sharply, in a manner quite foreign to her soft and yielding nature.