was so anxious to arrive at.  A woman with wider experience of the world’s ways and shortcomings would probably have contented herself with an endeavour to find out whether her liking for the boy outweighed her dislike of his characteristics; Elaine took her judgments too seriously to approach the matter from such a simple and convenient standpoint.  The fact that she was much more than half in love with Comus made it dreadfully important that she should discover him to have a lovable soul, and Comus, it must be confessed, did little to help forward the discovery.

“At any rate he is honest,” she would observe to herself, after some outspoken admission of unprincipled conduct on his part, and then she would ruefully recall certain episodes in which he had figured, from which honesty had been conspicuously absent.  What she tried to label honesty in his candour was probably only a cynical defiance of the laws of right and wrong.

“You look more than usually thoughtful this afternoon,” said Comus to her, “as if you had invented this summer day and were trying to think out improvements.”

“If I had the power to create improvements anywhere I think I should begin with you,” retorted Elaine.

“I’m sure it’s much better to leave me as I am,” protested Comus; “you’re like a relative of mine up in Argyllshire, who spends his time producing improved breeds of sheep and pigs and chickens.  So patronising and irritating to the Almighty I should think, to go about putting superior finishing touches to Creation.”

Elaine frowned, and then laughed, and finally gave a little sigh.

“It’s not easy to talk sense to you,” she said.

“Whatever else you take in hand,” said Youghal, “you must never improve this garden.  It’s what our idea of Heaven might be like if the Jews hadn’t invented one for us on totally different lines.  It’s dreadful that we should accept them as the impresarios of our religious dreamland instead of the Greeks.”

“You are not very fond of the Jews,” said Elaine.

“I’ve travelled and lived a good deal in Eastern Europe,” said Youghal.

“It seems largely a question of geography,” said Elaine; “in England no one really is anti-Semitic.”

Youghal shook his head.  “I know a great many Jews who are.”

Servants had quietly, almost reverently, placed tea and its accessories on the wicker table, and quietly receded from the landscape.  Elaine sat like a grave young goddess about to dispense some mysterious potion to her devotees.  Her mind was still sitting in judgment on the Jewish question.

Comus scrambled to his feet.

“It’s too hot for tea,” he said; “I shall go and feed the swans.”

And he walked off with a little silver basket-dish containing brown bread-and-butter.

Elaine laughed quietly.

“It’s so like Comus,” she said, “to go off with our one dish of bread-and-butter.”