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better now, and thought that every morning, perhaps, for more than twenty years he must have braced himself to carry through the day the consciousness of a crime. But, though I understood him better, I began to feel for the first time ill at ease in his company. This morning there was some embarrassment in my smile that answered his smile, and I began to wish that he would not speak to me. He began speaking at once. "Well, Roy," he said, "I'm afraid you had rather a distressing time of it last night." For a moment I thought that he was alluding to the scene in the study, and I stared at him blankly, determined not to give myself away or, if I was discovered, at least to put as good a face on the matter as I could. And I was suddenly shocked to find that my feelings towards my guardians were no longer frank and open as they had been; for now my first thought was to dissemble. The Rector went on speaking and I saw, with relief, that he was speaking not of his confession, but of the dinner party. "Did you see your friend again?" he asked. "He behaved abominably, I thought." "No," I said, "I didn't seem him again. I'm afraid I behaved pretty badly myself in not coming back again. I hope the others didn't mind. It was rather a surprise, you see." I paused, and saw that the Rector was smiling at me. I rather disliked his smile, and was shocked to find it so. "He suffers badly from nerves," I added. "Yes, yes," said the Rector. "No one is thinking of blaming you, my boy." He seemed embarrassed, I thought, and I was glad when his wife leaned towards me. "Here is your coffee, Roy," she said. "Now let's talk about something else. Have you both forgotten the show?" "No, no, my dear," said the Rector. "Most certainly not, my love. We shall enjoy ourselves no end." He looked at me as though expecting corroboration, but I was drinking my coffee and made no move. I was horrified with myself for so deliberately refusing to join in his gaiety. In a night my feelings towards him had changed, and I asked myself whether this was due to the fact that he was not in reality my father or to the fact that he was a murderer. There was a long pause and I thought of the Agricultural Show which was held every year in the meadows by the river about a mile away from our village. Last night at the pub there had been much talk of the show, of the likely winners in various classes and of the beer which could be drunk at any hour of the day, both at the canteens and, by those in the know, at the private bars at the back of the booths belonging to firms selling agricultural implements, poultry foods, dogs, rabbits, and other livestock. This year also the authorities of the aerodrome were giving an exhibition of stunt flying, and there would also be some demonstrations of the latest type of machine-guns. I wondered whether we would meet the Flight-Lieutenant and, if so, what account he would give of his behaviour on the previous night. I thought, too, of the landlord's daughter who had promised to meet me that afternoon at twelve o'clock behind the big marquee in which the horticultural exhibits were shown. I thought of her long yellow hair which I had wound round the fingers of my hand; of her smooth throat that swelled out into an arch when she leant her head back, as she had done not long ago, sitting with me on a branch projecting over the swirling river, and I had kissed her mouth and eyes and ears over and over again, trembling, for it was my first experience of love, and still I could not think of her as of a person like myself, but rather as a sudden glow on water or something exquisite and airy and apt to move away, like a bird or a cloud's shadow sweeping across a wood. Thus there was fear and perturbation in my intense happiness. Every pleasure seemed unexpected, unlikely to be repeated, too good to be true. Yet the pleasure was real and now, at the breakfast table, when I thought of it even the disclosures of the previous night, my uncertainty, my