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that she need not stay longer in the same room with him. She paused for only a moment outside the door to breathe deeply and try to stop the trembling of her hands and the rapid pounding of her heart with the unaccustomed anger she felt. Temper was a sensation she seldom indulged in, but there was something in Evan Davies' manner that made her unable to restrain her feelings.
    She fetched a lacy black stole and draped it round her shoulders and arms, pausing briefly to look at her reflection in the long mirror, and what she saw surprised her into staying a moment longer to be sure that it was her' self that looked out at her. The dress was hers, but the flushed cheeks and angrily sparkling eyes belonged to another girl; a brittle and rather beautiful girl and she wondered why it was that this man more than any other should arouse her usually placid temper.
    When she reached the foot of the stairs again she turned her head momentarily and saw that the door of the room was still open as she had left it and she could see part of his shoulder round the edge of the armchair by the fireplace. She knew that she had been unforgivably rude in walking out as she had, without so much as a word of apology or excuse, but she felt strangely reckless and unfamiliarly defiant. She spent only a fraction of a second deciding whether she should go back into the room and make some excuse for her behaviour, but the thought of coming under that cold scrutiny again discouraged her and she went out into the garden.
    The tranquility of it soon dispersed the worst of her temper and she walked slowly round the beds of exquisite roses, enjoying the scented solitude more than anything she had discovered since she arrived. The evening was lovely and heavy with the scent of the roses after the heat of the day, so quiet that a cricket in the grass startled her when he made his presence known. The warm scented air and the quiet reminded her of her own home and the evenings she had sat with her father in the latter years while he had enjoyed the last of the sun and the sight of his beloved roses.
    The memory of her father consoled her for a while and she could imagine, with just a little effort, that these were his roses that she could smell and see and that she was home again in their own lovely garden. So preoccupied was she that she stayed out longer than she intended and was brought swiftly back to earth when she turned a corner and came unexpectedly face to face with a young man of about Emlyn Davies' age. He put out his hands to prevent the collision that seemed inevitable and ran his eyes over her in a swift and flattering appraisal.
    ' You'll be Miss Gaynor,' he said, making it a statement rather than a question. 'I'm Dai Hughes, miss.' His accent was much more pronounced than any she had heard so far and she found the lilting sing song of it fascinating to listen to. She smiled and proffered a hand which he took willingly, retaining it a fraction longer than was necessary.
    ' Hello, Mr Hughes; Mr Emlyn mentioned you earlier.' Bright blue eyes smiled briefly at the statement.
    ' He told me about you too, miss,' he said, the appraising eyes sweeping over her again, 'and he was right about you too. You're quite a looker, if I may say so, miss.' His humility was very obviously false and she could not restrain a smile at the impudence of him.
    ' The garden is very lovely,' she said, to change the subject and he concurred, obligingly.
    ' It takes a lot of hard work,' he said, 'but it's worth it now, isn't it? Me and old Arnold are at it most of the time when I'm not with Mr Emlyn, of course. You know anything about roses, miss?'
    'A little,' Helen confessed. 'My father grew them, he loved them.' He nodded his head, as if he already knew about her father, probably from Emlyn also, they seemed to exchange news the two of them.
    'We got some beauties here,' he told her, obviously anxious to show off his favourites. 'You seen them Ena Harkness down by the