As the wrist felt unconvinced, I slipped it through my arm, where it lay comfortably enough.

"Do you often do this sort of thing?" I said presently.

"Get late coming home and have no lights? Not often."

"I'm glad of that—I'm sure it's very dangerous. Good whips like myself aren't as common as blackberries. And so few tramps one meets nowadays can drive really well."

"I don't look as if I'd got any money, do I?"

"Well, you don't look anything just now, as it's too dark to see; but you sound like a wrist-watch and a chain—purse."

"How did you know?"

"Intuition," I said carelessly. "You see I'm a boy-scout."

"Feel."

She laid a slim, warm wrist against my cheek. I distinctly felt the cold round glass of a wrist-watch.

"And I've got a chain-purse in my bag." "Ah!"

"Go on, boy-scout. Tell me what I look like in the daytime."

"You have ear-rings and your face is rather cold. About the kind of ear-rings I am not certain."

"How did you know that?"

"I found that out, when—er—when we went up the bank."

"Oh!"

"Yes," I went on hurriedly, "and—"

"Am I dark or fair?"

I looked hopelessly at where I knew my companion was sitting. Then:

"Dark," I said, after a minute. "Dark, with long eyelashes and two brown eyes."

"Two!"

"Yes, I think so. You sound extravagant."

"Dimples?"

"I think not."

"Nose?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, please, teacher."

"Nonsense. What did you mean by 'yes'?"

"Sorry. I thought you were asking me if you'd got a nose, and I think you have. That's all. Sorry if I'm wrong, but when you're in the dark—"

"Yes, but what sort of nose?"

Here I got the near wheel up the bank again with great effect. When we had sorted ourselves:

"If you do that again," she said severely, "I'll leave you in the road—"

"In the what?"

"In the road to find your own way home as best you can."

"You have a hard nose," I said doggedly. I was almost sure that the ear-rings were pearl ear-rings.

There was a pause. The cold was making us silent. My fingers were getting numbed, but I dared not chafe them. I was afraid of the rug.

"You're not doing much for your drive," she said presently. "Do say something."

"You want to converse?"

"Yes."

"Very well, then. I didn't see you at Blackpool this year."

"That's curious."

"Yes, isn't it? What's your recreation? Forgive my seeming inquisitiveness, but I've just joined the staff of Who's Who."

"What?"

"No, who?"

"Recreation?"

"Yes. Hobby, amusement. Don't you collect cats or keep stamps or motor-boat or mountebank, I mean mountaineer, or anything?"

"No."

"Never mind. I expect you know Oldham rather well, don't you?"

"Not at all."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know it either, and I thought—"

"What?"

"Well, you know, we ought to know Oldham—one of us ought to. It was a Unionist gain last time."

"Are you a Unionist?"

"My dear, you see in me—at least you would see in me, if it were not so dark—a high Tory."

"I thought you were a boy-scout."

"The two are not incompatible. Did you see that thing in Ally Sloper last week?"

"No, I didn't. Here's a gate."

I got down and opened it, and she drove carefully through.

It was the first of seven gates. By the time we had done six, I was becoming good at getting up and down, but rather tired. As I resumed my seat for the sixth time, I sighed. For the sixth time she returned me the reins.

"You don't take much care of your clothes, boy-scout," she said. "Nearly all the men I know hitch up their trousers when they sit down."

"Perhaps they're sailors."

"No, they aren't."

"My dear girl, I don't know how you can see I don't, but I don't because I haven't got any on. I mean, I'm wearing breeches."

"Would you hitch them up if you had got on trousers?"

"Let's see, to-day's Thursday. Yes, I should."

"Why do men always bother so about their knees?"

"Take care of the bags, and the coats will take care of themselves," I observed sententiously.

"But why—?"

Here we came upon the seventh gate.

I groaned.

"Six gates shalt thou labour, and do all that thou hast to do, but the seventh—"

"Out you get, boy-scout."

I laid a hand on my companion's shoulder. "Are you an enchantress?" I said. "At least, of course you are. But I mean, is this the way to your castle, Circe? And am I going to be turned into a herd of swine presently? They always have seven gates and a dense forest through which I cut a path with my sword, which, by the way, I have left in the tool-shed, unless perchance, maiden, thou hast filched it from my side this last half-hour. Note the blank verse again. I may say I am looking at you narrowly."

"Fret not for thy sword, Sir Scout." she replied, "neither flatter thyself that Circe wastes her spells on all who come her way. Those only will she lure who—"

"I simply love your voice," I said.

"Get down and open the gate."

I did so, and climbed slowly back.

"It's all right," she said, "We haven't got much further to go."

"I'm sorry for that."

"Sorry?"

"Certainly. I've enjoyed this awfully. It's rather funny, isn't it? Our meeting in the dark like this and driving all these miles together and not being able to see each other once."

"Unique, I should think."

"Yes, it's rather like being in a cell next to some one and talking by rapping against the wall."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it reminds me awfully of my young days at Brixton."

"Were you at school there?"

"Yes, for five years, before I went to Dartmoor."

"Oh, were you at Dartmoor? I had a cousin there a year or two ago. But he's out now. His name was Taber."

"What! Not Billy Taber?"

"That's right."

"This is very strange, Circe."

"Yes, boy-scout. Round to the left here. That's right. Only three more miles. This is Dilberry Farm."

"Dilberry! Why, that's—"

"Where you're staying?"

I gulped, and laid the whip over the mare's shoulders.

"No," I said doggedly, "it's not."

She laid two firm little hands on my left and pulled the mare up.

"Anything the matter?" said I.

"Say 'good-bye' like a good boy-scout and thank the kind lady for giving you a lift, and then run along home," she said sweetly.

"What are we stopping for?" I said. "You can't get a good view from here to-day. It's too hazy."

"Go on."

"But, Circe—"

"Be quick. I'm awfully cold."

"Won't you come in and get warm before you go on, or borrow another rug, or—"

"No, thanks awfully, I must get home."

"Mayn't I see you there? I can easily walk back."

"No, thanks awfully, boy-scout."

"You mean it?"

"I do."

"I gave her the reins and got heavily out of the dog-cart. She moved on to the seat I had vacated and I put the rug carefully round her feet. Suddenly I remembered.

"Stop," I said. "Let me get some matches. At least your lamps shall be lighted."

Not a bit of it. Said she didn't want them lighted. Simply wouldn't have it.

While I was speaking, my fingers had mechanically strayed to the ticket pocket of my coat, where I sometimes carry my matches loose.

"By George!" I said.

"What is it?"

"I've just found a bit of a match—with the head on."

"Oh, boy-scout, and you've had it all the time."

"Yes, but it wouldn't be enough to light the lamps with."

"Oh!"

"Not the lamps."

"What would it be enough for?"

"A face, Circe."

"Good-bye."

"Stop, Circe. Two faces."

"How?"

"Well, I'll strike it on the tire, and then hold it between us.

"All right."

"It'll only last a second—it's not a quarter of an inch long. You'll have to bend down."

"Go on."

"Nerve yourself for the shock, Circe. Think you can stand it?"

"I'll try. Keep your back to the mare."

"Thank you."

I heard her lean over and struck the match on the tire, I raised it cautiously, sheltering it with my hands. Just as I was about to raise my eyes:

"Thank you," she said, very softly, and blew it out.

I laid my hands on her shoulders.

"I won't say 'damn,'" I said. "I'll say 'good-bye' instead, like—like a good boy-scout."

"Say it then."

I said it.

"Oh, but that isn't—"

"Yes," I said. "It's a new rule."

When the clatter of the mare's hoofs had died away in the distance, I walked slowly up to the farm. I was quite sure about the ear-rings this time. At least, about the one in her left ear.

"Ah," said Daphne, as I entered the room, "where have you been all this time?"

All things considered, I thought that was rather good.

"I don't think I've been into Cornwall," I said, "but I've done Devon pretty thoroughly."

"We went back for you."

"Ah!"

"Why do you say 'Ah!'?"

"Oh, I don't know. Didn't see anything of a ram, did you?" I added carelessly.

There was a pause.

"Not until after he'd seen Berry," said Jonah.

"Ah, where is Berry?"

"Upstairs," said Daphne.

"He did—er—see Berry then?"

"Yes."

"Er—how did he see him? I mean—hang it, I didn't bring the beastly ram there."

"You left him there," said Daphne.

"I know: but you can't pick up every tame ram you meet. Besides—"

"Tame!" said Jonah. "Good Lord!"

"He saw Berry, you say? Did he see him well?"

"I think he'd have seen him home, if it hadn't been for the brook."

"Courteous beast. He saw him as far as that, did he?"

"He saw him half-way across."

I regret to say I laughed so immoderately that I never noticed that Berry had entered the room, until he clapped me on the shoulder.

"It was a neat revenge," said that gentleman; "very neat, my boy. But you deserve six months for it."

"Hang it," I said, "you seem to think I—"

"I should certainly have haunted you," said Berry.



Six weeks had sloped by.

The train ran slowly into the station. I got out. Then I remembered my umbrella and got back. Then I got out again. "Porter," I said.

The individual addressed turned round, and I saw it was the station-master. For a few moments he regarded me with indignation, obviously wondering whether he would be exceeding his duty if he ordered me to be flung to the engine. Two inspectors hovered longingly near him. Then he said "Chut!" and turned away.

I fought my way the length of the platform to the vicinity of the luggage van. Four porters were standing looking moodily at the luggage already upon the platform.

I touched one on the shoulder.

"Yes," I said, "it's a nice bit of luggage, isn't it?"

He said it was.

"Don't you think it's that dressing-case that does it? Lends an air of distinction to the rest. Bucks it all up, as it were, eh?"

Before he could reply:

"So you're down for the week-end too," said a voice I should have recognized amid the hubbub of the heavenly choir. "Staying at Watereaton?"

It was she.

Such a pretty girl. Very fair, very blue eyes, a beautiful skin, and—yes, a dimple. She was wearing a long, fur coat, while a little black felt hat with a ghost of a brim leaned exquisitely over one of the blue eyes. Her hands were plunged into deep pockets, but a pair of most admirable legs more than made good the deficit.

I sighed.

"Disappointed?" she said.

"Not in you—you're beautiful. But in myself. Yes, I shall resign."

"Resign?"

"My scout-hood."

"You were wrong about my hair, but—"

"But what?"

"You knew me again, at any rate."

"But of course. You've the same voice and the same dear laugh, and—yes, you've got—"

"What?"

"The same ear-rings," said I.



CHAPTER IV

ADAM AND NEW YEAR'S EVE

Jonah rose, walked to the window, pulled the curtains aside, and peered out into the darkness.

"What of the night?" said I.

"Doth the blizzard yet blizz?" said Berry.

"It doth," said Jonah.

"Good," said Berry. Then he turned to Daphne. "Darling, you have my warmest Yuletide greetings and heartiest good wishes for a bright New Year. Remember the old saying:

"You may have move pretentious wishes, But more sincere you can't than this is."

"Do you believe it's going on like this?" said his wife.

"Dear heart—two words—my love for you is imperishable. If it were left at the goods station for a month during a tram strike, it would, unlike the sausages, emerge fresh and sweet as of yore. I mean it."

"Fool," said Daphne. "I meant the weather, as you know."

"A rebuff," said her husband. "Do I care? Never. Strike me in the wind, and I will offer you my second wind for another blow. I did not forget everything when I married you. But to the weather. This berlizzard—German—has its disadvantages. A little more, and we shan't be able to bathe to-morrow. Never mind. Think of the Yule log. Noel." Here he regarded his empty glass for a moment. "Woman, lo, your lord's beaker requires replenishing. I ought not to have to tell you, really. However."

Daphne selected one of the harder chocolates, took careful aim, and discharged it in the direction of her husband's face. It struck him on the nose.

"Good shot," said I. "That entitles you to a vase. If you like, you can have another two shots instead." "I'll take the vase," said my sister. "For all the area of the target, I mightn't hit it again."

"A few years ago," said Berry, "you would probably have been pressed to death for this impious display. In consideration of your age, you might instead have been sent to a turret."

"What's a turret?" said Jill.

"Old English for bathroom, dear, and kept there till you had worked the murder of Becket in tapestry and four acts. I shall be more merciful. When you can show me a representation of the man who drew Slipaway in the Calcutta Sweep trying to believe that it wouldn't have won, even if it hadn't been knocked down when it was leading by nineteen lengths—"

"Very brilliant," said Daphne, "but the point is, what are we going to do about to-morrow night?"

"If it goes on like this, we can't go."

"Oh, but we must," said Jill.

"My dear, I'm not going out in this sort of weather without Sjvensen, and he may be too busy to leave town. Besides, the blubber hasn't come yet."

"Couldn't we get hold of Wenceslas?" said I. "He's getting five million a week at the Palliseum. Makes footprints there twice daily in real snow. The audience are invited to come and tread in them. They do, too, like anything. Happily, Wenceslas is famed for the size of his feet. But you can't expect a man to leave—"

"But it can't go on like this," said Daphne.

"My dear, English weather is like your dear self—capable of anything. Be thankful that we have only snow."

"If it occurred to it to rain icebergs, so that we were compelled willy or even nilly to give up sleeping out of doors, it would do so. Well, I'm tired. What about turning out, eh? Light the lanthorn, Jonah, and give me my dressing-gown."

"If you want to make me really ill," said Daphne, "you'll go on talking about bathing and sleeping out of doors."

Berry laughed a fat laugh. "My dear," he explained, "I was only joking."

We were all housed together in an old, old country inn, the inn of Fallow, which village lies sleeping at the foot of the Cotswold Hills. We knew the place well. Few stones of it had been set one upon the other less than three hundred years ago, and, summer and winter alike, it was a spot of great beauty comparatively little known, too, and far enough from London to escape most tourists. The inn itself had sheltered Cromwell, and before his time better men than he had warmed themselves at the great hearth round which we sat. For all that, he had given his name to the panelled room. Our bedrooms were as old, low-pitched and full of beams. The stairs also were a great glory. In fact, the house was in its way unique. A discreet decorator, too, had made it comfortable. Save in the Cromwell room, electric light was everywhere. And in the morning chambermaids led you by crooked passages over uneven doors to white bathrooms. It was all right.

Hither we had come to spend Christmas and the New Year. By day we walked for miles over the Cotswolds, or took the car and looked up friends who were keeping Christmas in the country, not too many miles away. The Dales of Stoy had been kind, and before the frost came I had had two days' hunting with the Heythrop. And to-morrow was New Year's Eve. Four miles the other side of the old market town of Steeple Abbas, and twenty-one miles from Pallow, stood Bill Manor, where the Hathaways lived. This good man and his wife Milly were among our greatest friends, and they had wanted us to spend Christmas with them. Though we had not done so, we had motored over several times and they had lunched with us at Fallow only the day before. And for New Year's Eve the Hathaways had arranged a small but very special ball, to which, of course, we were bidden. Indeed, I think the ball was more for us than for anyone else. Anyway, Jim and Milly said so. The idea was that we should come over in the car in time for dinner with the house-party, the ball would begin about ten, and when it was over, we should return to Fallow in the ordinary way. Nobody had anticipated such heavy weather.

And now it was a question whether we should be able to go. Also, if we went, whether we should be able to get back. The dispute waxed. Daphne and Jill insisted that go we must, could, and should. I rather supported them. Berry and Jonah opposed us; the latter quietly, as is his wont, the former with a simple stream of provoking irony. At length:

"Very well, ghouls," said Berry, "have your most wicked way. Doubtless the good monks of the Hospice will find my corpse. I wish the drinking-trough, which will be erected to my memory, to stand half-way up St. James's Street. How strange it will sound in future."

"What'll sound?" said Jill. "The new Saint's Day, dear—Berrymas."

When order had been restored, Jonah suggested that we should adjourn the debate till the next morning, in case it stopped snowing during the night. As it was nearly one, the idea seemed a good one, and we went to bed.

The morning was bright and cloudless. The cold was intense, but the sun glorious, while the clear blue sky looked as if it had never heard of snow. In a word, the weather was now magnificent, and, but for the real evidence Upon the country-side, no one would ever have believed such a cheery, good-natured fellow guilty of a raging blizzard. But the snow lay thick upon the ground, and it was freezing hard.

"We can get there all right," said Jonah, "but I don't see the car coming back at four o'clock in the morning. No, thanks, I'Il have marmalade."

"There's almost a full moon," said I.

"I know," said Berry, "but the banjo's being painted."

"We'd better stop at the inn at Steeple Abbas," said Jonah.

"If we can get as far as Steeple, we can make Fallow," said I. "Remember, I'm driving."

"We are not likely to forget it, brother," said Berry. "If you knew the difference between the petrol-tank and the gear-box—"

"But I do. Petrol in one, tools in the other. However."

"Jonah's right," said Daphne. "We'd better stop at Steeple."

"Not I." said I.

"Nor me," said Jill. "Boy and I'll come back to our dear Fallow and our nice big grate and our own beds."

"Good little girl," said I. Berry emptied his mouth and began to recite "Excelsior."

At twenty minutes past three the next morning I drove out of the courtyard of 'The Three Bulls', Steeple Abbas. Alone, too, for it had begun to snow again, and although I was determined to sleep that night, or what remained of it, at Fallow, I would not take Jill with me for such an ugly run. As a matter of fact, I had started once with her in the car, but before we had got clear of the town, I had turned about and driven her back to the inn. The people had evidently half expected her back, for, as we stopped at the door, it was flung open and the landlord stood ready to welcome her in. The next moment I was once more on my way. In spite of the weather, the car went well, and I had soon covered more than half the distance. I was just about to emerge from a side-road on to the main highway, when a dark mass right on the opposite corner against the hedgerow attracted my attention. The next second my head-lights showed what it was, and I slowed down. A great limousine, if you please, standing at an angle of twenty degrees, its near front wheel obviously well up the bank, and the whole car sunk in a drift of snow some four or five feet deep. All its lights were out, and fresh snow was beginning to gather on the top against the luggage rail.

I stopped, took out one of my side oil lamps, and, getting out of the car, advanced to the edge of the drift, holding the light above my head. The limousine was evidently a derelict.

"You look just like a picture I've seen somewhere," said a gentle voice.

"And you've got a voice just like a dream I've dreamed some time or other. Isn't that strange? And now, who, what, where, why, and how are you? Are you the goddess in the car, or the woman in the case? And may I wish you a very happy New Year? I said it first."

"Try the woman in the car."

"One moment," said I. "I know."

"What?"

"I know who you are. Just fancy."

"Who am I?

"Why, you're New Year's Eve."

A little laugh answered me.

"I know I've dreamed that laugh," said I. "However, where were we? Oh, I know. And your father, Christmas, has gone for help. If I know anything, he won't be back again for ages. Seriously, how did what happen?"

"Chauffeur took the turn rather late, and next moment we were up the bank and in this wretched drift. It wasn't altogether the man's fault. One of our head-lights wouldn't work, and you couldn't see the drift till we were in it."

"He might have known better than to run so close to the hedge these days."

"He's paying for it, any way, poor man. He's got to walk till he finds a farm where they'll lend him horses to get the car out."

"Considering the hour and the climatic conditions, I don't suppose the farmers will come running. I mean they'll wait to put some clothes on."

"Probably. Besides, he doesn't know the district, so he's up against something this little night."

"Of all nights, too, Eve! But what about her, poor lass?"

"Oh, I'm all right."

"You must be. But don't you find it rather hot in there? Can I turn on the electric fan?"

"I've been making good resolutions to pass the time."

"Hurray! So've I. I'm going to give up ferns. And you can tell me yours as we go along."

"Go along?"

"Yes, my dear. Didn't I tell you I was a highwayman? I only left York two hours ago."

"Quick going."

"Yes, I came by the boat train, with Black Bess in a horse-box. And now I'm going to abduct you, Eve. Your soul's not your own when you're up against High Toby. I have a pistol in my holster, a cloak on my back, and a price on my head. My enemies call me Red Nat, me friends—"

I paused.

"What do your friends call you?"

"Adam," said I. "Let's see. You'll have to get out on the near side, won't you? Wait a moment."

I plunged round the back of the car and opened the door. Certainly it was terribly cold. While we had been talking, she had been leaning against the side of the tilted car, with her face close to the inch and a half of open window. Except for an occasional flash, which had showed where her eyes were, I had not seen her at all. Expectantly I raised the lamp and peered into the limousine. Out of a huge fur rug a solitary eye regarded me steadily.

"Only one eye?" I said. "How sad. How did it happen?"

The solitary eye went out, and then reappeared with a fellow.

"You remind me of the North Foreland," said I. "That's an intermittent light, isn't it? Two winks and a blink every ten seconds."

"I didn't wink." This in a plainly indignant, if muffled tone—too muffled for me. So:

"I beg your pardon," said I. A little hand appeared and pulled the rug away from a small white nose and a mouth whose lips were paler than they should be. But it was a dear mouth.

"I said I didn't wink."

"So you did. I don't mean you did, you know. I mean, I know you said you didn't. I'm not sure I've got it right now."

"Never mind. I've only one brain, and at this hour of night—"

"The vitality of the human frame is at its lowest ebb. Exactly. That's why you must let me get you out of this as quick as possible."

"Oh, but I don't think—I mean—"

"My dear Eve, I know you come of an old-fashioned family—look at your father—but Convention's going by the board to-night. I'm staying at an inn about nine miles away. We'll be there under the half-hour. There's supper and a fire waiting for us, Why, yes, and you can have Jill's room. Of course, there'll be a fire there, too, and everything ready. You see—"

Hurriedly I explained the situation. When I had finished:

"But what'll the inn people think?" she said, with big eyes.

"Oh, hang the inn people?"

"And supposing it got out?"

"I think the proceedings at the inquest would read worse, my dear. Get up and come along at once."

"Oh, but you know I can't."

"You must. I'm serious. You'll die if you stop here much longer, my dear child. Do you realize how cold it really is?"

A faint smile came over the gentle face, set in its frame of fur.

"Poor lass," I cried. "What a fool I am. Give me her hand, and I'Il help her up."

"But what about Falcon?"

"The chauffeur?"

She nodded. I thought for a moment, then I looked for the companion. There, happily, were tablets and a pencil.

"We'll write him a note," said I. "Wait a minute."

With difficulty I scrawled a few words. Then:

"How will this do? Falcon, I have been found and taken to shelter. If possible, bring the car to 'The Three Bulls,' Steeple Abbas, by noon tomorrow. Will you sign it?"

I put the pencil into her hand and held the lamp for her to see. She wrote quickly. When she had finished, I laid the tablets on the seat, where they must be seen at once. When I looked at her again, I saw she was smiling.

"So there's something in the nickname, after all?"

"What nickname?" said I. "Red Nat?"

"No. 'Gentleman of the road,' Adam."

"Thank you, Eve. If I could feel my mouth, I'd kiss your hand for that. As it is—"

I helped her to her feet and set the lamp on the front seat. Then I bade her stand in the doorway while I wrapped the rug about her.

"I'm afraid I can't dig you a pathway, so I'm going to carry you to my car. I used to be able to delve once—"

"When Who was a gentleman?"

"Exactly. And you span. But I'm out of practice now. Besides, I left my niblick in London. Come along. Don't be frightened if I slip. I shan't go down. Yes, I'll come back for your dressing-case."

The next moment she was in my arms, and three minutes later we were making for Fallow at nearer thirty than twenty miles an hour.

As we ran into the village, I heard the church clock chime the half-hour. Half-past four. We had come well. A moment later I had stopped at the old inn's door. Except for a flickering light, visible between the curtains of the Cromwell room, the place was in darkness. I clambered stiffly out and felt for the key I had asked for. A Yale lock in the studded door! Never mind. This door is only a reproduction. The original probably shuts off some pantry from some servants' hall in New York City. However. When I had switched on a course of lights, I went back to the car and opened the door. Have I said that it was a cabriolet?

"Eve," said I. No answer, I took the lamp once more and flooded the car with light. In the far corner, still wrapped in the rugs, my lady lay fast asleep. With some difficulty I got her into my arms. On the threshold I met Thomas, our waiter. He had little on but a coat and trousers, and there was slumber in his eyes.

"I didn't wait up, sir," he explained, "but, hearing the car, I just come down to see you'd got everything. Miss Mansel asleep, sir?"

I stared at him for a moment and then looked down at the charge in my arms. A corner of the rug had fallen over her face. Thomas, naturally enough, thought it was Jill.

"Er—yes," said I. "She's tired, you know. And you'd better not let her see you. She'll be awfully angry to think you got up for us. You know what she said."

Thomas laughed respectfully. I passed up the stairs, and he followed. "I'll only open the door and see that the fire's all right, sir," he said. I placed my burden gently on the sofa, away from the light of the fire.

"You'll let me light the candles, sir?"

"Not a farthing dip, Thomas. Miss Mansel may wake any moment. You can come and open the coach-house door, if you like."

"Very good, sir."

"You can get to it from the inside, can't you? Because you're not to go out of doors."

"Oh, yes, thank you, sir."

Two minutes later the car was in the garage, and Thomas and I were making our way back past the kitchens. Outside the Cromwell room I stopped.

"You may take Miss Mansel's dressing-case to her room and see to her fire, then you are to go back to bed."

"It won't take a minute to serve you, sir."

"Thomas, you are to do as I say. It was very good of you to come down. I'm much obliged. Good night."

"Good night, sir. Oh—"

"Yes?"

"I forgot to tell you, sir, there's a temporary maid will wait on Miss Mansel in the morning, sir. Susan's had to go away sudden. I think her father's ill, sir."

"I'm sorry for that. All right. I'Il tell Miss Mansel. Good night."

"Good night, sir."

As I closed the door of the Cromwell room:

"So I'm Miss Mansel," said Eve.

"Quite right, my dear," said I. "One of our party—my cousin, in fact. When did you wake?"

"Just as you were lifting me out of the car."

I took off my cap and shook its snow into the fire.

"I uncover," said I. "In other words, I take my hat off to you. Eve, you are an artist. I only wish I were."

"Why?"

"I'd paint you—here, now, just as you are."

"I know I look awful."

"You look perfectly sweet."

"I can't help it."

"I shouldn't try."

She did look wonderful. I had put her upon the sofa, but she had moved from there, and was sitting on the hearth in front of the great fire. Plainly she had kept her long grey fur coat on, when she had first sat down but now she had slipped out of it, and it lay all tumbled about her on the rug. She was in evening dress, and might have returned, as I had, from a ball. All blue, it was, blue of a wonderful shade—periwinkle, I think they call it, Her stockings were flesh-coloured and her shoes of gold: these she had taken off, the better to warm her little shining feet. White arms propped her towards the fire, and she sat sideways, with one leg straight by the warm kerb, the other drawn up and bringing her dress tight and a little away from a silk knee. Her dark hair had worked loose under the weight of the rug, and was lying thick about her smooth shoulders. Save in her face, she wore no jewels, but two great brown stars smiled at me from either side of a straight nose. The lips were red now, and her throat soft and white as her shoulders. I gazed down at her.

"No jewels, you see, Adam," she said suddenly. "I'm afraid you've struck a loser this time. You'll have to stick to the Great North Road in future."

"No jewels?" said I. "You have a wealth of hair, and what about the pearls behind your lips? They're worth a king's ransom."

"They're not made to take out, though, and there's no gold with them."

She put up the red mouth and showed two rows of teeth, white and even.

"Tempt me no more," said I. "Oh, Eve, you're just as bad as ever. After all this time, too. However. I hesitate to mention supper, because you look so lovely sitting there, but—"

She stretched out a warm hand, and I lifted her to her feet. For a second I held the slight fingers.

"Tell me one thing," said I. "Is there anyone who doesn't love you?"

The fingers slipped away. "Yes, stacks of people. You wouldn't like me a bit, only I'm not myself to-night. I'm just—just Eve. See? New Year's Eve."

"Thomas thinks you're Jill—Miss Mansel."

"To him I am. To the temporary maid in the morning, too. As for breakfast—oh, you and my high collar must get me through breakfast and out of here and over to Steeple Abbas somehow. Funny, your telling Falcon to go to 'The Three Bulls.' It's where we were making for. I'd taken a room there."

"By Jove," said I. "Then, when I went back with Jill, they thought it was you arriving."

And I related what had occurred. When I had finished, she threw back her head and laughed.

"Then you're not a robber, after all, Adam?"

"Certainly not. But why?"

"I mean, assuming the exchange is a fair one."

"Fair?" said I. "It's exquisite. Why, just to look at you's as good as a feast, and—"

"Which reminds me I'm awfully hungry. Oh, no, no, I didn't mean that, Adam, dear, I didn't really."

And my companion leaned against the chimney-piece, laughing helplessly.

"That's torn it," said I, laughing too.

"And now," said Eve, recovering, "take off your coat. You must be so tired."

I drew my pumps out of the great pockets, and threw the coat off me and across the back of a chair. Then I kicked off my great high rubber boots, stepped into my pumps, and looked ruefully at my dress trousers.

"They're only a little creased," said the girl.

"You must forgive them," said I.

"Jill wouldn't have minded, would she?"

"Jill wouldn't have mattered."

"Nor does Eve. Remember my hair."

"I shall never forget it," said I. Then I picked up her little shoes and stooped to fit them on to their feet.

"You are looking after me nicely, Adam," she said, laying a hand on my shoulder to keep her balance. I straightened my back and looked at her.

"My dear," I said, "I—oh, heavens, let's see what we've got for supper." And I turned hurriedly to the dishes in front of the fire.

When I looked round, she was lighting the candles.

"You mustn't go to bed at once," I said, pushing back my chair. "It's bad for the digestion. Sit by the fire a little, as you did before. Wait a moment. I'll give you a cigarette."

I settled her amid cushions, put out the candles, and struck the red fire into flames.

"But where will you sit, Adam?"

"I shall lean elegantly against the chimney-piece and tell you a fairy story."

"I'm all for the story, but I think you'd better be a child and sit on the hearthrug, too. There's plenty of room."

"A child," said I, sitting down by her side. "My dear, do you realize that I'm as old as the Cotswold Hills."

"There now, Adam. And so am I."

"No," I said firmly, "certainly not."

"But—"

"I don't care. You're not. Goddesses are immortal and their youth dies not."

"I suppose I ought to get up and curtsey."

"If you do, I shall have to rise and make you a leg, so please don't."

For a moment she smiled into the fire. Then:

"I wonder if two people have ever sat here before, as we're sitting now?"

"Many a time," said I. "Runaway couples, you know. I expect the old wood walls think we're another pair."

"They can't see, though."

"No. Born blind. That's why they hear so well. And they never forget. These four"—with a sweep of my cigarette—"have long memories of things, some sweet, some stern, some full of tears, and some again so mirthful that they split their panelled sides with merriment whenever they call them to mind."

"And here's another to make them smile."

"Smile? Yes. Wise, whimsical, fatherly smiles, especially wise. They think we're lovers, remember."

"I forgot. Well, the sooner they find out their mis—"

"Hush!" said I. "Walls love lovers. Have pity and don't undeceive them. It'd break the poor old fellows' hearts. That one's looking rather black already.

"She laughed in spite of herself. Then:

"But they haven't got any hearts to break."

"Of course they have. The best in the world, too. Hearts of oak. Now you must make up for it. Come along." I altered my tone. "Chaste and beautiful one, dost thou realize that at this rate we shall reach Gretna next Tuesday week?"

"So soon, Jack?"—languishingly.

"Glorious," said I: "that is, aye, mistress. Remember, I have six spare axles disguised as golf clubs."

"But what of my father? His grey hairs—"

"When I last saw thine aged sire, pipkin, three postboys were engaged in sawing him out of a window, through which he should never have attempted to climb. The angle of his chaise suggested that one of the hind wheels was, to put it mildly, somewhat out of the true. The fact that, before we started, I myself withdrew its linchpin goes to support this theory."

"My poor father! Master Adam, I almost find it in my heart to hate you."

"Believe me, fair but haughty, the old fool has taken no hurt. Distant as we were, I could hear his oaths of encouragement, while the post-boys sawed as they had never sawed before. From the way they were doing it, I shouldn't think they ever had."

"But they will soon procure a new linchpin. Is that right? And, oh, Adam, they may be here any moment."

"Not so, my poppet. To get a linchpin, they must find a smith. All the smiths within a radius of thirty miles are drunk. Yes, me again. A man has to think of all these little things. I say, we're giving the walls the time of their life, aren't we? Have another cigarette?"

"After which I must go to bed."

"As you please, Mistress Eve," said I, reaching for a live coal to give her a light.

For a little space we sat silent, watching the play of the flames. Then she spoke slowly, half her thoughts elsewhere:

"You never told me your fairy tale, Adam."

"I expect you know it," said I. "It's all about the princess a fellow found in the snow, and how he took her to his home for shelter, and set her on her way in the morning, and then spent his poor life trying to find her again. Anyway, one doesn't tell fairy-tales to fairies, and—and I'd rather you watched the fire. He'll tell you a finer story than ever I could. At least—"

"Yes?"

"Well, he's a bold fellow, the fire. He'll say things that I can't, Eve. He'll praise, thank, bless you all in a flash. See what he says for a moment. Remember he's speaking for me."

"Praise, thank, bless," she repeated dreamily. "Does he ever ask anything in return?"

"Never," said I.

For a full moment she sat gazing into the flames. Then she flung her cigarette into the grate and jumped to her feet before I had time to help her.

"Bed-time," she cried. "Mine, at any rate.

"I'll see you to your room," said I, lighting one of the candles. Then I picked up her grey fur coat and laid it over my arm.

"Adam," said Eve.

I looked up and across at her, standing straight by the other side of the hearth, the leaping flames lighting her tumbled hair. One foot was on the kerb, and her left hand hitching her dress in the front a little, as women do. The other she held, palm downwards to the blaze, warming it. I marked the red glow between its slight fingers, making them rosy. Her eyes still gazed into the fire.

"Yes," said I.

"If Jill were here, Adam, would you kiss her good night?"

The next morning, with the help of the high collar and a little strategy, my companion's incognito was preserved, and by half-past eleven we had breakfasted and were once more in the car. It was another brilliant day, and at five minutes past twelve we ran into Steeple Abbas. Eve was sitting in front by my side this time. As we turned into the main street, I slowed down. Outside 'The Three Bulls' stood the limousine, weather-beaten a little and its nickel work dull, but seemingly all right. In the middle of the road stood a chauffeur, his cap pushed back and a hand to his head. As we approached, he looked away from the little writing-block and stared up at the signboard of the inn. When he heard the car approaching, he made for the pavement, turning a puzzled face in our direction. At that moment I heard Jill's voice.

"Berry, Berry, I can hear a car coming. I expect it's Boy."

There was not a moment to lose. Quick as a flash I drew alongside the limousine, which stood on our left between us and the hotel. Then I stopped, stood up, leaned across my companion and opened the big car's door.

"Good-bye, dear," I said.

The next moment she had changed cars. To thrust her rug and dressing-case after her was the work of a second. For a moment I held her hand to my lips. Then I shut the door, slipped back into my seat, and drove on and in to the kerb. As I pulled up, Jill came running down the steps of the inn.

"Then you got home all right, Boy?"

Before I had time to answer, Berry appeared in the doorway. "Aha," said he, "the brave's return! Skaul! You are late, but never mind. Skaul again, my pathfinder. I thought of you when I was going to bed. Was the snow-hut comfortable? I hope you didn't find that coat too much? It isn't really cold, you know. Now, when I was in Patagonia—"

"Are you all ready?" said I. "I'm just coming in to warm my hands." I followed Jill up the steps. In the doorway I turned and took off my hat. The chauffeur was starting up the limousine. And Eve was leaning forward, looking out of the open window. As I smiled, she kissed her hand to me.

Ten minutes later we left 'The Three Bulls.' I had thrown my gauntlets on to the front seat before I entered the inn. As I drew on the right one, I felt a sheet of paper in its cuff. I plucked it out, wondering. It had been torn from the writing-block, and bore the message I had written for Falcon the night before. The signature was Evelyn Fairie, and underneath had been added, "Castle Charing, Somerset. With my love."

I slipped it into my pocket and started the car.

"And how did Jilly get on?" I said abstractedly, as we rolled down the street.

"Oh, Boy," she cried, "it was so funny. I'm sure they took me for somebody else. There was a lovely big room all ready and everybody kept bowing and calling me 'my lady.' They couldn't understand my connection with the others at first and when they asked about the car, and I said it had gone back to Fallow, they nearly fainted. They were going to make out my bill separately, too, only Berry—"

"And you didn't enlighten them?"

"I couldn't make out what was wrong till I was undressing."

"And the real one never turned up?"

"I don't think she can have. The landlord stammered something about 'your ladyship,' as I said 'Good-bye.'"

"How strange," said I. Jill chattered on all the way to Fallow. Fortunately I remembered to tell her about the new chambermaid. I was rather uneasy about the girl, as a matter of fact. She must have seen Eve properly. But my luck was holding, for on our arrival we found that Susan had returned.

The following day, January the second, after breakfast, a wire for Jonah arrived. When he had read it:

"That's curious," he said. "I wonder how he knew we were here?"

"Who's it from?" said Jill.

"Harry Fairie, the man I met at Pau last Easter. Wants us to go over to his place in Somerset before we go back to town."

"All of us?"

"Apparently. 'You and party,' the wire says."

"I believe I met his sister once," said I.

"You wouldn't forget her if you had," said Jonah. "She's a wonderful creature. Eyes like stars."

"Where did you meet her?" said Daphne.

"I seem to associate her with winter sports."

"Switzerland?" said my sister. "What year? Nineteen-twelve?"

I walked to the door and opened it. "If I told you," I said, "you wouldn't believe me." Then I went out.



CHAPTER V

THE JUDGEMENT OF PARIS

"I suppose," said Daphne. "I suppose you think you're funny."

Her husband regarded his cigarette with a frown. "Not at all," he replied. "Only there's nothing doing. That's all. My mind is made up. This correspondence must now cease. For myself, as bread-winner and—"

"Never did a day's work in your life," said Jonah.

"And one of the world's workers (so you're wrong, you see)—"

"Of course he's going," said I, looking up. "Only what as?"

"Why not himself?" said Jill.

"M, no," said I. "We must find something out of the common. A mountebank's too ordinary. I want our party to be one of the features of the ball."

"Would it be asking you too much to shut your face?" said Berry. "Nobody spoke to you. Nobody wants to speak to you. I will go further. Nobody—"

"Could he go as a cook, d'you think?" said Daphne. "A chef-thing, I mean. They had cooks, of course. Or a wine-butler? They must have had—"

"Or a birthright?" said Berry. "We know they had birthrights. And I'd sooner be a birthright than a wine-cooler any day. Besides, Jonah could go as a mess of pottage. There's an idea for you. Talk about originality!"

"Originality!" said his wife contemptuously. "Studied imbecility, you mean. Anyone can originate drivel."

"It's in the blood," said Jonah. "One of his uncles was a Master in Lunacy."

I laid down my pen and leaned back in my chair.

"It comes to this," said I. "Whatever he goes as, he'll play the fool. Am I right, sir?"

"Yes," said every one.

"(A voice, 'Shame')," said Berry.

"Consequently he must be given a part which he can clown without queering the whole scene."

"Exactly," said Daphne.

"What d'you mean, talking about parts and scenes?" said Berry. "I thought it was going to be a ball."

"So it is," said his wife. "But people are taking parties, and every party's going to represent some tale or picture or play or a bit of it. I've told you all this once."

"Twice," corrected her husband. "Once last night with eclat, and once this morning with your mouth full, Jilly's told me three times, and the others once each. That's seven altogether. Eight, with this. I'm beginning to get the hang of the thing. Tell me again."

His voice subsided into the incoherent muttering, which immediately precedes slumber. This was too much. In silence Jonah handed Daphne his cigarette. By stretching out an arm, as she lay on the sofa, my sister was just able to apply the burning tobacco to the lobe of her husband's ear. With a yell the latter flung his feet from the club-kerb and sat up in his chair. When he turned, Jonah was placidly smoking in the distance, while Daphne met her victim's accusing eye with a disdainful stare, her hands empty in her lap. The table, at which I was writing, shook with Jill's suppressed merriment.

"The stake's upstairs," said Berry bitterly. "Or would you rather gouge out my eyes? Will you flay me alive? Because if so, I'll go and get the knives and things. What about after tea? Or would you rather get it over?"

"You shouldn't be so tiresome," said Daphne. Berry shook his head sorrowfully.

"Listen," he said. "The noise you hear is not the bath running away. No, no. My heart is bleeding, sister."

"Better sear that, too," said his wife, reaching for Jonah's cigarette.

It was just then that my eyes, wandering round the library, lighted on a copy of "Don Quixote." "The very thing," said I suddenly.

"What?" said Jill.

"Berry can go as Sancho Panza."

The others stared at me. Berry turned to his wife.

"You and Jill run along, dear, and pad the boxroom. Jonah and I'll humour him till you're ready."

"Sancho Panza?" said Daphne. "But we're going to do The Caliph's Wedding out of the Arabian Nights."

"Let's drop the Eastern touch," I said, getting up from the table. "It's sure to be overdone. Give them a page of Cervantes instead. Jonah can be Don Quixote. You'll make a priceless Dorothea in boy's clothes, with your hair down your back. Jilly can be—— Wait a minute."

I stepped to the shelf and picked out the old quarto. After a moment's search:

"Here you are," said I. "Daughter of Don Diego. Sancho Panza strikes her when he's going the rounds at night. 'She was beautiful as a thousand pearls, with her hair inclosed under a net of gold and green silk.' And I can be the Squire of the Wood, complete with false nose."

"I rather like the idea," said Daphne, "only—"

"Wait till I find the description of Dorothea," said I, turning over the pages. "Here it is. Read that, my dear," and I handed her the book.

In silence my sister read the famous lines. Then she laid the book down, and slipped an arm round my neck.

"Boy," she said, "you flatter me, but I can sit on my hair."

Then and there it was decided to illustrate Cervantes.

"And Sancho can wear his governor's dress," said Jill.

"Quarter of an hour back," said Berry, "-I told you that it was no good ordering the wild horses, because nothing would induce me to go. Since then my left ear has been burned, as with a hot iron. Under the circumstances it is hardly likely that—"

"Oh dear," said Daphne wearily.

I reached for the telephone and picked up the receiver.

"Number, please."

"Exchange," I said, "there is here a fat swab."

"What?"

"Swab," said I. "I'll spell it. S for soldier, W, A for apple, B for Baldwin."

"Have you a complaint to make?"

"That's it," said I:

"About this swab. You see, he won't go to the ball. His ticket has been bought, his role chosen, his face passed over. And yet—"

"Mayfair supervisor," said a voice.

"That's done it," said I.

"I mean—er—Supervisor."

"Speaking."

"I want to complain about our swab here."

"Oh yes. Can you tell me what's wrong with it?"

"I think its liver must be out of order."

"Very well. I'll report it to the engineers. They'll send a man down to-morrow."

"Thanks awfully."

"Good-bye."

I replaced the receiver and crossed to where Berry was sitting, nursing his wounded ear.

"They're going to report you to the engineers," I said shortly. "A man will be down to-morrow."

"As for you," said my brother-in-law, "I take it your solicitors will accept service. For the others, what shall I say? Just because I hesitate to put off my mantle of dignity and abase this noble intellect by associating with a herd of revellers and—er—"

"Libertines?" said Jonah.

"Toss-pots, my ears are to be burned and foul aspersions cast upon a liver, till then spotless. Am I discouraged? No. Emboldened rather. In short, I will attend the rout."

"At last," sighed Daphne.

"My dear. I ordered the supper yesterday. We're sharing a table with the Scarlets. But you needn't have burned my ear."

"Only means some one was talking about you," said Daphne. "Why did you say you weren't going?"

"A passion for perversity," said I.

Berry stole a cautious glance at the time. The hands stood at a quarter past three. A slow grin spread over his countenance.

"Didn't you say something about a sacred concert?" he said. "Good Heavens," cried Daphne, jumping up. "I forgot all about it. It begins at thr—"

Arrested by her husband's seraphic smile, she swung round and looked at the clock.

Berry apostrophized the carpet.

"Sweet are the uses of perversity," he said, with inimitable inflection. For a moment his wife eyed him, speechless with inindignation. Then:

"I hope you've got ear-ache," she said.

Berry settled himself among the cushions.

"I have," he said, "But back-ache would have been worse."

I sank back in my seat with an injured air. The coach swayed slightly, as it rattled over the points. The train was gathering speed. In the far corner of the compartment the brooch of a gay green hat winked at me over the top of The Daily Glass.

"That's a nice thing," said I.

"What?" said the girl, laying down her paper.

"Oh, nothing. Only the train's run through the station I was going to get out at. That's all."

"How tiresome for you!"

"There are consolations. You would never have opened your small red mouth, but for my exclamation. And I should never have exclaimed, but for—"

"It's very rude to make personal remarks." This severely.

"Only when the person's plain or the remark rude. Note the alliteration."

"What are you going to do?

"Obey orders, I suppose." said I, pointing to the door.

"'Wait until the train stops?'"

"I think so," said I, looking at the flashing hedgerows.

"You see, I've given up acting for the pictures. Otherwise, I should adjust my handcuffs, run along the foot-board, and dive in the direction of the nearest pond."

"While I—?"

"Lay perfectly still. You see, I should be carrying you in my teeth."

"Thanks awfully."

"Not at all. It's a great life."

"It's a rotten death."

"Possibly. Otherwise, you emerge from the infirmary to find that A Jump for Life has already left the Edgware Road for Reading and is eagerly expected at Stockton-on-Tees, that the company for which you work is paying twenty-seven percent and that rehearsals for Kicked to Death begin on Monday. However."

I stopped. The girl was leaning back in her corner, laughing helplessly.

"It's all very fine to laugh," said I. "How would you like to be carried a county and a half beyond your station?"

"You should have asked before you got in."

"Asked?" said I. "The only person I didn't ask was the traffic superintendent himself. They said he was away on his holiday."

"They can't have understood what you said."

"I admit my articulation is defective—has been ever since a fellow backed into my car at Brooklands, did it twenty pounds' worth of damage, and then sent in a bill for a new tail-lamp. At the same time—"

Here another station roared by. I was too late to see the name. "I shall swear in a minute," said I. "I can feel it coming. I suppose we do stop somewhere, if only to coal, don't we?"

"Well, we may stop before, but I know we stop at Friars Rory, because that's where I get out."

I turned to her open-mouthed. She was consulting a wrist-watch and did not see the look on my face. Friars Rory was where I was bound for. We had run through the station ten minutes ago. I knew the place well. I had just time to recover, when she looked up.

"We're late now," she said. "I expect that's why we're going so fast."

"You know," I said, "I don't believe you asked either."

"If this was the right train? Well, I've used it, going down to hunt, for two seasons. Besides, I told a porter—"

"Can't have understood what you said," said I, producing my cigarette-case. "Will you smoke? There's plenty of time."

"What d'you mean?"

"I was going to Rory, too. My dear, if this train really stops there, there must be the very deuce of a hairpin corner coming, or else we're on the Inner Circle. We've passed it once, you know, about nine miles back, I should think. No, twelve. This is Shy Junction." We roared between the platforms. "Wonderful how they put these engines along, isn't it?"

But my companion was staring out of the window. The next moment she swung round and looked at me wildly. Gravely I offered her a cigarette. She waved me away impatiently.

"Have we really passed Rory?" she said.

"Ages ago," said I. "Your porter can't possibly have under—"

She stamped a small foot, bright in its patent-leather shoe.

"Aren't you going to do anything?" she demanded.

"I am already composing a letter to the absent traffic superintendent which will spoil his holiday. I shall say that, in spite of the fact that the dark lady with the eyes and the seal-skin coat asked the porter with the nose—"

"Idiot. Can't you do anything now?"

"I can wave to the engine-driver as we go round a bend if you think it's any good, or, of course, there's always the communication cord, only—"

I broke off and looked at her. There was trouble in her great eyes. The small foot tapped the floor nervously. One gloved hand gripped the arm of her seat. I could have sworn the red lips quivered a moment ago. I leaned forward.

"Lass," I said, "is it important that you should be at Friars Rory this morning?"

She looked up quickly. Then, with a half-laugh, "I did want to rather," she said. "But it can't be helped. You see, my mare, Dear One—she's been taken ill, and—and—oh, I am a fool," she said, turning away, her big eyes full of tears.

"No, you're not," said I sturdily, patting her hand.

"I know what it is to have a sick horse. Buck up, lass! We'll be there within the hour."

"What d'you mean?" she said, feeling in her bag for a handkerchief.

"I have a plan," said I mysteriously. "Can't you find it?"

She felt in the pocket of her coat and turned to the bag again.

"I'm afraid my maid must have—"

I took a spare handkerchief from my breast-pocket.

"Would you care to honour me by using this to—er—"

"Go on," she said, taking it with a smile.

"To brush away some of the prettiest tears—"

She laughed exquisitely, put the handkerchief to her eyes, and then smiled her thanks over the white cambric. I let down the window nearest me and put out my head. A long look assured me that we were nearing Ringley. My idea was to pull the cord, stop the train in the station, pay the fine, and raise a car in the town, which should bring us to Rory in forty minutes by road.

"But what are you going to do?" said the girl.

"Wait," said I over my shoulder. Again I put out my head. In the distance I could see red houses—Ringley. I put up my right hand and felt for the chain. As I did so, there seemed to be less weigh on the train—a strange feeling. I hesitated, the wind flying in my face. We were not going so fast—so evenly. Yet, if we had run through Shy Junction, surely we were not going to stop at—— The next moment I saw what it was. We were the last coach, and there was a gap, widening slowly, between us and the rest of the train. We had been slipped. I took in my head to find my companion clasping my arm and crying.

"No, no. You mustn't, you mustn't. You're awfully good, but—"

"It's all right," I said. "I didn't have to. We're in the Ringley slip."

"And we're going to stop there?"

"Probably with an unconscionable jerk—a proper full stop. None of your commas for a slip. But there! I might have known. It's a long train that breaks no journey, and there's many a slip 'twixt Town and the North of England. However. If there isn't a train back soon, I'm going to charter a car. May I have the honour of driving you back to Rory and the mare? I'm sure the sight of her mistress will put her on her legs again quicker than all the slings and mashes of outrageous surgeons. I take it you know your Macbeth?"

She laughed merrily. I looked at her appreciatively, sitting opposite and perched, as I was, on one of the compartment's dividing arms.

"Sunshine after rain," I murmured. Sweet she looked in her gay green hat and her long seal-skin coat. Beneath this, the green of a skirt above the slim silk stockings and the bright shoes. Gloves and bag on the seat by her side. The face was eager, clear-cut, its features regular. But only the great eyes mattered. Perhaps, also, the mouth—

"You're a kind man," she said slowly. "And it was sweet of you to think of pulling the cord. But I should have been awfully upset, if you had."

The coach ran alongside of the platform and stopped with a jerk that flung me backwards and my lady on to my chest. I sat up with my arms full of fur-coat, while its owner struggled to regain her feet.

"Infants in arms need not be paid for," said I, setting her upright with a smile. "I hope the station-master saw you, or he mightn't believe—— Where were we? Oh, I know. You'd have been upset, would you? More upset than this?"

"Oh, much," she said, her eyebrows raised above a faint smile. "You see, then I should have been upset properly."

As she spoke, she laid a hand on my shoulder, to steady herself, while she peered into the mirror above my head. I looked round and up at the smiling face, six inches away.

"Then I wish I had," said I. One hand was settling her plumed hat. Without looking down, she set the other firmly upon my chin, and turned my face round and away.

"Open the door and hand me out nicely," she said.

I rose and put on my hat.

"Do you ever play the piano?" I said suddenly.

"Why?"

"I was thinking of the fingers. You have such an exquisite touch."

The evident pleasure the chestnut mare evinced at her mistress's arrival was a real tribute to personality. Also the vet's morning report was more satisfactory. It seemed that Dear One was mending. Greatly comforted, my lady let me give her lunch at the Duck Inn. Afterwards—there being no train till four o'clock—she came with me to choose a spaniel pup. It was to purchase him that I had started for Friars Rory that sunshiny day.

"What shall you call him?" she said, as we made our way to the kennels. "I really don't know," said I. "What about Seal-skin? Must be something in memory of to-day."

She laughed merrily. Then:

"Why not Non-Stop?"

"I know," I said. "I'll call him Upset."

Three black and white urchins gambolled about us, flapping ears, wagging ridiculous tails, uncertainly stumbling about upon baby legs.

"Oh, you darlings," said the girl, stooping among them, caressing, in turn caressed. She raised a radiant face to me.

"However will you choose which you'll have?"

I leaned against the wall and regarded the scene before me.

"I like the big one best," I said.

"The big one?" she said, standing up. "Aren't they all the same—"

"The one on its hind legs," said I. "With the big eyes."

"Ah," she said, smiling. "But that's not for sale, I'm afraid. Besides, its temper's very uncertain, as you know."

"I'd risk that. The spaniel is renowned for its affectionate disposition. And what dog wouldn't turn, if it was put in the wrong train? Besides, your coat's so silky."

"But I'm sure my ears don't droop, and I've never had distemper. Then there's my pedigree. You don't know—"

"Don't I? By A Long Chalk, out of The Common's good enough for most people."

"Oh, you are hopeless!" she said, laughing. She turned to the scrambling pups. "Who's for a mad master?" she said.

Suddenly a bulldog appeared. She stood regarding us for a moment, her massive head a little on one side. Then a great smile spread over her countenance, and she started to sway in our direction, wagging a greeting with her hind quarters, as bulldogs do. Two of the puppies loped off to meet her. The long-suffering way in which she permitted them to mouth her argued that she was accustomed to being the kindly butt of their exuberance. The third turned to follow his fellows, hesitated, caught my lady's eye, and rushed back to his new-found friend.

"That's the one for me," said I. "Give me good judgment. I shall call him Paris."

"Appropriately. Off with the old love and on with the new. I'm sure he's faithless, and I expect the bulldog's been awfully kind to him, haven't you, dear?" She patted the snuffling beauty. "Besides, I gave him the glad eye, which wasn't fair."

"I'll bet that's how Venus got the apple, if the truth were known. Any way, I'm going to choose him for choosing you. You see. We shall get on well."

"Juno, Juno!" cried a woman's voice from the house. Immediately the bulldog started and turned towards the doorway.

"What did I say?" said I. "Something seemed to tell me you were a goddess, when—"

"When?"

"When you were upset this morning. I saw you very close then, you see. Well! What sort of weather have you been having in Olympus lately? And how's Vulcan? I suppose Cupid must be getting quite a big boy?"

She laughed. "You wouldn't know him if you saw him," she said.

"Don't be too sure. When does he go to the 'Varsity? Or shan't you send him?"

"He's there now. Doing awfully well, too!"

"Taken a first in the Honour School of Love, I suppose? Is he as good a shot as ever?"

"He's a very good son."

"Ought to be," said I.

"Yes," she said steadily, gazing with eyes half-closed, over the fields and hedgerows, away to the distant hills, the faintest smile hung on her parted lips. "He's never given me a day's trouble since he was born. I don't think he will, either, not for a long time, any way."

Thoughtfully I pulled on my gloves. Then:

"My dear," said I, "for that boast you may shortly expect a judgment."

"More judgments?" she cried with a laugh, turning to look at me, the straight brews raised in mockery. "Which will cost you more, my fair Olympian, than a glad eye."

A quarter past five. The train was passing through the outskirts of London. A bare ten minutes more, and we should arrive. I looked anxiously at the girl, wondering where, when, how I should see her again. For the last half-hour we had spoken but little. She had seemed sleepy, and I had begged her to rest. Dreamily she had thanked me, saying that she had had little sleep the night before. Then the eyes had smiled gently and disappeared. It was almost dark now, so swift had been the passing of the winter's day. Lights shone and blinked out of the darkness. Another train roared by, and we slackened speed. Slowly we crawled over a bridge spanning mean streets. One could not but mark the bustling scene below. The sudden din compelled attention. I looked down upon the writhing traffic, the glistening roadway, the pavements crowded with hurrying, jostling forms. An over-lighted public house made the cheap shops seem ill-lit, poorer still. Its dirty splendour dominated everything: even the tall trams took on a lesser light. The lumbering roar of wheels, the insistent clamour of an obstructed tram, the hoarse shouts of hawkers crying their wares—all this rose up above the rumble of the slow-moving train. I was glad when we had left the spot behind. It would not do after the country-side. It occurred to me that, but a little space back some seventy rolling years—here also had stretched fair green fields. Perchance the very ones poor dying Falstaff had babbled of. We slunk past an asylum—a long mass, dark, sinister. By this even the trams seemed to hasten. I could just hear their thin song, as they slid forward.

Enough. Already I was half-way to depression. Resolutely I turned, giving the window my shoulder. My Lady had not stirred. Wistfully I regarded her closed eyes. In five minutes we should be in, and there were things I wanted to say... A smile crept into the gentle face.

"Go on," she said quietly. "I'm listening."

"I was wondering, goddess, if I should ever see you again."

"Oh, probably! The world's awfully small. Not for some time, though. I leave for Cannes to-morrow, to join my people."

"Cannes!" I exclaimed.

"Yes. You must have heard of it. Where the weather comes from."

"Where it stays, you mean," I growled, as the rising wind flung a handful of raindrops against the windows. For a moment I sat silent, looking out into the night, thinking. Except for a luncheon, to-morrow was free. And I could cut that. A network of shining rails showed that the terminus was at hand. I turned to my lady.

"Then we shall meet again to-morrow," I said gravely. "I have to go down to Dover, too."

"What for?" This suspiciously.

I rose and took up my hat. "Another dog," I said shortly.

She broke into silvery merriment. At length:

"Nonsense," she said, rising.

"Not at all," said I. "The Dover dogs are famous."

"Sea-dogs, perhaps," she murmured, setting one knee on the cushions to look into the glass. "Well, you've been awfully kind, and I'm very grateful. And now—" she swung round—"good-bye." She held out a slim hand.

The train drew up to the platform.

"Good-bye?" said I, taking the cool fingers. She nodded.

"And I hope you'll get a good dog at Dover," she said, smiling. "I shall think of you. You see, I'm going by Folkestone and Boulogne."

In silence I bent over the slight fingers. Slowly they slipped away.

I opened the door. Then I turned to the girl.

"You know," I said, "the Folkestone dogs."

"At last," said Berry, as the car swung into line in Kensington Gore, about a furlong from the doors of the Albert Hall. "A short hour and a quarter, and we shall be there. Can anyone tell me why I consented to come?"

"To please yourself," said Daphne shortly.

"Wrong," said her husband. "The correct answer will appear in our next issue. Five million consolation prizes will be awarded to those who, in the opinion of—"

"Have you got the tickets?" said his wife.

"Tickets!" said Berry contemptuously. "I've had to put my handkerchief in my shoe, and my cigarette-case has lodged slightly to the right and six inches below my heart. You'll have to make a ring round me, if I want to smoke."

"Have you got the tickets?" said Daphne.

"My dear, I distinctly remember giving them to—"

A perfect shriek went up from Daphne and Jill. The footman slipped on to the step and opened the door.

"Did you call, madam?"

"Yes," said Berry. "Give Mrs. Pleydell the tickets."

Our party was an undoubted success. Jonah looked wonderful, Daphne and Jill priceless. With her magnificent hair unbound, her simple boy's dress, her little rough shoes at the foot of legs bare to the knee, my sister was a glorious sight. And an exquisite Jill, in green and white and gold, ruffled it with the daintiest air and a light in her grey eyes that shamed her jewellery. Berry was simply immense. A brilliant make-up, coupled with the riotous extravagance of his dress, carried him half-way. But the pomp of carriage, the circumstance of gait which he assumed, the manner of the man beggar description. Cervantes would have wept with delight, could he have witnessed it. The Squire of the Wood passed.

And did little else. And that somewhat listlessly, till he saw my lady. That was just after supper, and she was sitting on the edge of a box, scanning her programme. All lovely, dressed as Potpourri.

"You were right," said I. "The world is small." We floated into the music. "So is your waist. But, then I learned that this morning. So. When you were upset."

"Do you like my dress?"

"Love it. Where did it come from?"

She mentioned a French firm.

"Ah!" said I, "Give me the judgment of Paris."



CHAPTER VI

WHICH TO ADORE

"I suppose you think I'm going to swear," said Berry defiantly.

Jill and Daphne clasped one another and shrieked with laughter. Berry stopped addressing the ball and gazed at them.

"Go on!" he said, nodding sardonic approval. "Provoke me to violence. Goad me in the direction of insanity."

His caddie sniggered audibly. Berry turned to him.

"That's right, my boy. Make the most of your time. For you I have already devised a lingering death."

"Look here, old chap," said I, "there's some mistake. I said I'd give you a stroke a hole, not a divot a stroke."

Jonah strolled up. "Hullo!" he said, "making a new bunker, old man? Good idea. Only a cleek's no good. Send the boy for a turf-cutter. Quicker in the long run."

My brother-in-law regarded us scornfully. Then:

"What I want to know," he said, "is how the Punch office can spare you both at the same time."

Daphne, Berry and I were playing a three-ball match, while Jill and Jonah—who had sprained his wrist—were walking round with us. Berry is rather good really, but just now he was wearing a patch over one eye, which made him hopeless.

It was glorious spring weather on the coast of Devon. A little village is Feth. Over and round about it the wind blows always, but the cluster of white cottages and the old brown inn themselves lie close in a hollow of the moorland, flanked by the great cliffs. Only the grey church, set up on the heights, half a mile distant, endures the tempests. The wind passes over Feth and is gone. A busy fellow, the wind. He has no time to stop. Not so the sunshine. That lingers with Feth all day, decking: the place gloriously. It is good to be a pet of the sun. So are the gardens of Feth bright with flowers, the white walls dazzling, the stream, that scrambles over brown pebbles to the little bay, merry water.

Except for the natives, we had the place to ourselves. But then Feth sees few visitors at any season. Sixteen miles from a station is its salvation. True, there is Mote Abbey hard by—a fine old place with an ancient deer-park and deep, rolling woods. Ruins, too, we had heard. A roofless quire, a few grass-grown yards of cloister and the like. Only the Abbot's kitchen was at all preserved. There's irony for you. We were going to see them before we left. We were told that in summer at the house itself parties assembled. But the family was away now.

The round of golf proceeded. "How many is that?" said Berry, as he sliced into the sea.

"Seven," said I. "Not seven into the sea, you know. Seven strokes. You've only hit three into the sea altogether."

"Isn't he clever with his sums? Here, give me another ball. Where's Henry?"

I handed him the last-named—a favourite cleek. The caddie had gone to collect the flotsam.

"Now then. Ladies and gentlemen, with your kind permission I shall now proceed to beat the sphere into the sky."

It was a tremendous shot, and we could see that it must have reached the green; but when we came up and found the ball in the hole nobody was more surprised than Berry. Of course, he didn't show it. Berry doesn't give things away.

"Ah!" he said pleasantly. "That's better. I'm beginning to get used to playing with one eye. You know, all the time I—er—seem to see two balls."

"Nonsense," said Daphne.

"If you said you'd been seeing two holes all day, I could believe it," said Jonah. "Anyone might think so from the way you've been playing."

Berry smiled ecstatically. "My recent—er—chef d'oeuvre—(note the Parisian accent)—has ipso facto—(Latin of the Augustan Age)—placed me beyond the pricks of criticism. The venom, brother, which you would squirt upon me, bespatters but yourself. Boy, place me the globe upon yon pinnacle of sand. So. Now indicate to me the distant pin. Thank you. Do I see it? No. Natheless (obsolete, but pure), I say nameless it beckons me. And now give me—yes, give me Douglas."

The caddie handed him a brassie. He had caddied for Berry before.

"Don't breathe for a moment, anyone," said Daphne.

Her husband frowned and silently sliced into the sea.

"How many balls did you see that time?" said Jonah.

"Three," said I. "That's why he's going to pawn his clubs."

"The aftermath of gluttony." I spoke disgustedly. It was after luncheon, and Daphne was already asleep. Jill and Jonah drooped comfortably in huge chairs. Berry sprawled upon a sofa.

"I suppose we outrage what you call your sense of decency." murmured the latter.

"You do. Incidentally, you also irritate me, because I shall have to go round alone."

"Friend, your foul egoism leaves me unmoved. Go forth and harry your balls. I am about to slumber like a little child. Do you think I shall dream, brother?"

"Probably," said I. "About fried fish shops."

Jill shuddered in her chair, and Berry sat up.

"After that most offensive allusion," he said pompously, "I have no option but to ask you to withdraw. The touts' room is downstairs. Before leaving you may give me what cigarettes you have in your case."

I smiled grimly. Then: "I'm afraid I don't approve of—ah—children smoking," I said, moving towards the door. "Besides, a little exercise'll do you good. There is a box in my room—you know where that is?"

"Where?" snarled my brother-in-law.

I put my head round the door and looked at him. "Immediately above the touts'," said I.

The breeze of the morning had died away, and though the month was the month of April, it might have been a midsummer afternoon. I started on my solitary round, well enough pleased, really, to be alone. The weather was excellent company. My clubs I carried myself.

The fourth hole lies in a little valley, under the lee of a steep, rock-studded hill, whose other side falls sheer into the tumbling waves. On an idle impulse I left my clubs at the fifth tee and scrambled on up the green slope to gaze upon and over the sea below. I have a weakness for high places on the edges of England. I cannot match the dignity of them. Where yellow sands invite, these do not even stoop to challenge. They are superb, demigods, the Royalty of the coast.

As I breasted the summit, I heard a child's voice reading aloud.

"And the people told him of all the splendid things which were in the city, and about the King, and what a pretty Princess the King's daughter was."

'Where can one get to see her?' asked the soldier.

"'She is not to be seen at all,' said they, all together 'she lives in a great copper castle, with a great many walls and towers round about it; no one but the King may go in and out there, for it has been prophesied that she shall marry a common soldier, and the King can't bear that."'

"'I should like to see her,' thought the soldier..."

"The reading came from beyond and below me. I fell on my knees, crawled forward, and peered over the top of a slab of rock. On the warm grass, twenty paces from the edge of the cliff, sat a little boy, his brown knees propping a book. By his side, facing the sea, lay a girl of nineteen or twenty years, her hands clasped behind her head. Her eyes were closed. She seemed to be asleep. The reading continued.

"And all his friends knew him again, and cared very much for him indeed."

Once he thought to himself,' It is a very strange thing that one cannot get to see the Princess. They all say she is very beautiful; but what is the use of that, if she has always to sit in the great copper castle with the many towers? Can I not get to see her at all? Where is my tinder-box?' And so he struck a light, and whisk! came the dog with eyes as big as teacups.

"'It is midnight, certainly, said the soldier; 'but I should very much like to see the Princess, only for one little moment.'"

Here the child shaded his eyes and looked down at the sands of a creek, quarter of a mile away.

"There they are," he exclaimed, dropping the book and scrambling to his feet. He waved delightedly to two specks on the sands below. Then:

"Good-bye, Cousin Lallie," he cried. "I'll be home by six," and tore away down the green slope like a mad thing. But his cousin never waked. I watched her meditatively.

A skirt of grey-blue tweed, and the fresh white of a blouse beneath a smart coat to match. Her small grey hat lay on the grass by her side. Her slim legs were crossed comfortably, and the bright sun lighted a face at once strong and gentle, clear-cut under its thick black hair, which was parted in the middle and hung low over each temple. Her brews were straight, and on the red mouth was a faint smile.

I looked away over the glittering waves. Then I came quietly down, picked up "Hans Andersen," and took my seat by her side. I found the place and continued the story aloud:

"And the dog was outside the door directly, and, before the soldier thought it, came back with the Princess. She sat upon the dog's back and slept; and every one could see she was a real Princess, for she was so lovely. The soldier could not refrain from kissing her, for he was a thorough soldier.."

Here the girl stirred, opened her eyes, saw me, and sat up.

"Who on earth—" she began. "It's all right," said I. "It's only a fairy tale. Besides, I'm not a soldier, although I don't see—"

"How long has this been going on?"

"Only just begun," said I. "Listen.

"Then the dog ran back with the Princess. But when morning came—"

"Where's Roy?"

"He had to go and join his friends," said I. "Fortunately I happened to be here to take his place. He asked me to say he should be home not later than six. Where were we? Oh, I know.

"But when morning came—"

She raised a slim hand for me to stop. Then she clasped her knees and regarded me with her head on one side.

"A bad end," she said laconically.

"A good beginning, anyway," said I.

"I might be a sorceress."

"I believe you are."

"Or an adventuress, for all you know."

"Or a Princess," said I.

"What made you do this?"

"I'll tell you," said I. "Whilst you were asleep, a little smile was playing round your lips. And this smile told me that he had two twin sisters who dwelt In your eyes. And, like the soldier, I wanted to see them, Princess."

"Well, you have now, haven't you?"

I looked at her critically. "I'm afraid they must be out," said I. In spite of herself she laughed. "No, there they are. Besides—"

"What?"

"The little smile said he had a big brother living in your heart."

"Yes," she said softly.

"Yes. And that made me very brave, Princess. Otherwise I should never have dared. Honestly, it was all the little smile's fault, bless him. Isn't it glorious here?"

The bright eyes swept the horizon.

"Yes," she said slowly, "it is. In fact, every prospect pleases."

"And only golf is vile."

"Byron never said that."

"I know he didn't," said I. "Nor, in fact, did Heber. He said 'man.' All the same, I'm not vile. I'm rather nice, really. At least, so one of the smaller birds told me."

"Not really?"

"I mean it."

"Perhaps it was a skylark."

"As a matter of fact," I said stiffly, "it was an owl. A breed famous for its wisdom."

"Ah, but you shouldn't believe everything you're told."

"It isn't a question of what I believe, but of what other people believe," said I. "But if you don't believe it yourself, how can you expect—"

"I never said I didn't believe it myself. Besides, I don't want to argue. I want to watch the smiles playing 'Here we go round the mulberry bush.'"

The girl broke into peals of silvery laughter. "Is my nose as bad as all that?" she said presently.

"Your nose is the nose of dainty Columbine," said I. "Dream noses, they call them. And you know that mulberry bushes don't figure in that game any more than the bells of St. Clement Danes are ever used by children playing 'Oranges and lemons.'"

"Admit it was a floater on your part, and I'll let you play a round with me."

"I—er—confess, upon consideration, that the allusion—"

"That'll do," she said, laughing.

I rose. She put out a hand, and I drew her to her feet.

"My clubs are just by that rock there. Do you think you can manage Hans Andersen?"

"Every time," said I, picking up the book. I shouldered her clubs and together we scrambled over the rise and down towards the fifth tee.

"Oh, I told you I adored you, didn't I?" I said suddenly.

"I don't think so."

"Surely I did. Perhaps you were asleep."

"Asleep!" she said scornfully. "I was awake all the time. I nearly died when you began to read."

I stopped short and looked at her. "You are a deceitful witch." I said.

"A what witch?"

"The which to adore," said I.

After the fourth hole the course lies inland. For the next ten holes you play directly away from the sea. Then the fifteenth takes a sharp turn to the left, skirting the deer-park of Mote Abbey, while the sixteenth bears to the left again, heading straight for the club-house and the coast once more.

My lady was a pretty player. I gave her two strokes a hole and led till the fourteenth, but on that green she holed a ten-foot putt which made us all square.

If she hadn't sliced her drive from the fifteenth tee, it would have been a beautiful shot. We watched it curl over the grey wall into the sunshot park.

"Out of bounds, I suppose," said I. "What a pity, pretty Princess."

"Not at all," she replied. "It was a lovely shot. You can't do better than follow that line."

"Into the deer-park?"

"Why not? It's much prettier."

"I'm sure it is," said I.

"But what of that? Unless somebody's moved it since this morning, the green's about a hundred and twenty yards away from the wall on this side. To say nothing of the fact that the park's private property, while there's a notice-board about three feet square, beginning 'Golfers are requested to remember,' at the one place where a giant might effect an entrance."

"Yes," she said quietly, "I got brother to put that board there. We tried to make it polite. The caddies used to frighten the deer so."

I just stood and looked at her. The three smiles blazed back at me. In silence I turned and teed up. Then I drove after her ball into the fair park.

When we reached the place where the board was posted, she touched my hand and pointed to her little brown shoe. For an instant she rested on my palm. The next moment she was on the top of the wall. She smiled her thanks before disappearing. I followed with the clubs. There was a ladder on the other side. She was awaiting my descent. In silence we walked forward together. Presently I touched her arm and stood still. She turned and looked at me, the sun making all manner of exquisite lights in her glorious hair.

"If I had a hat on," I said simply, "I should uncover."

The little bow she gave me would have launched another "thousand ships." In the slight action all the charm of her was voiced exquisitely. Grace, sweetness and dignity—all in a bow. So it was always. Helen's features would not have fired a sheepcote: the charm that lighted them blotted out a city. Cleopatra's form would not have spoiled a slave: the magnetism of her ruined Marc Antony. Elizabeth's speech would not have sunk a coracle: the personality behind it smashed an Armada.

We came to her ball first. As I handed her her brassie:

"Tell me one thing," said I. "If I had not been there, how would you have got over the wall?"

She looked at me mischievously. "I have a way," she said.

"I know," I said, patting her golf-bag. "These aren't really clubs at all."

"What are they, then?"

"Broomsticks."

It was the best part of a mile to the fair lawn, where we holed out underneath the cedars. I won with fourteen, which wasn't bad, considering I was bunkered in a bed of daffodils. She gave me tea in the old library, sweet with the fragrance of pot-pourri. Out of its latticed windows I could see the rolling woods, bright in their fresh green livery. For nearly an hour and a half we sat talking. I told her of Daphne and the others. She told me of her mother and sisters and how her brother had cared for the Abbey since her father's death. It was true that the family was away. She was alone there, save for her eldest sister's child—Roy. Next month she would go to London.

"Where I may come and see you?"

"I should be very hurt if you didn't. It's going to be rather nice."

"It is," I said with conviction.

"I meant the season. I'll enjoy it all. The dances and theatres, Ranelagh, Ascot, Lord's, the Horse Show and everything. But—"

"How glad and happy she'll be to get back to the Abbey with its deep woodland and its warm park, its gentle-eyed deer, its oaks and elms and cedars, its rose-garden and its old paved court. How grateful to lean out of her bedroom window into the cool, quiet, starlit nights. How pleased to watch the setting sun making the ragged clerestory more beautiful than did all its precious panes."

I stopped. She was sitting back in her chair by the window, chin in air, showing her soft, white throat, gazing with half-closed eyes up at the reddening sky.

"He understands," she murmured, "he understands."

For a little space we sat silent. Then I rose.

"Good-bye." I said. "You have been very kind. Perhaps I may come again."

She did not move. Only her eyes left the window and rested on mine. "Ring the bell," she said. "I am going to take you to see the ruins. They are at their best, as you said, at sundown."

"Thank you," I said, and stepped to the fireplace. A footman entered the room. "I want the key of the Abbot's kitchen," said my hostess.

"Some visitors have it, madam. A gentleman called to ask for it ten minutes ago."

"Oh, all right." She rose and turned to me. "Let's go, then. We'll probably meet them bringing it back."

The half-light lent the old quire's walls a rare beauty. A great peace hung over them. Perhaps it was of them. For a little we strolled, talking, upon the greensward. Then:

"Now you shall see the kitchen," she said.

"If you please, Princess."

The kitchen stood away from the ruins, in the middle of a fair meadow: a circular building of grey stone, very lofty and about sixty paces in circumference. Its great oak door was closed. I could see one tiny window—glassless, of course—some sixteen feet from the ground.

"Why!" said the girl, stopping suddenly, "the door's shut."

"Yes," said I; "but what of that?"

"Well, the people must have gone."

"Why?"

"Well, you can't see inside if you shut the door. Besides, if you do, you can't open it again. Not from within I mean. It's a spring lock."

"Perhaps they're locked in."

"They can't be."

"They might," said I. "Come on."

I was right. As we drew near, a confused murmur fell upon our ears. People talking excitedly. Then came the sound of blows upon the door.

"O-o-oh," said my companion. "So they are."

At that moment feminine tones were raised in a wail of expostulation.

"Yes, I shall! It's silly not to. Help! He-elp!"

Daphne's voice.

I fell on the green grass and writhed in silent laughter. When the girl recoiled in horror, I caught her by a warm ankle.

"Don't move!" I whispered. "Don't speak! Don't make a sound! Listen! It's my own party in there—Berry and Co. It's the most perfect thing that ever happened. Hush! We're going to have the time of our lives."

Again I rolled in an ecstasy of mirth. As the comedy of the situation dawned upon the girl, she began to laugh helplessly.

The knocking began again. I got up, and together we approached warily. As we reached the door:

"I'm glad I had four cups of tea," said Berry. "How many did you have?"

"Two," said Jill tearfully.

"Ah, I shall survive you, then. Very likely I shall be alive, if insane, when found. At any rate, with the aid of artificial respiration—"

"Rubbish!" said Daphne. "Some one must hear us soon."

"My dear, the noise we can make wouldn't flush a titlark at twenty paces. No, no!" he went on airily, "a lingering death awaits us. I only wish my caddie was here, too. Is anyone's tongue swelling? That's a sure sign. Directly you feel that, you know you're thirsty."

"Fool!" said his wife, "Besides, they'll miss the key soon."

"Where is the key?" said Jonah. "If we once lose that, we shall never find it again."

There was an awful silence. Then:

"Er—didn't I give it to you?" said Berry.

His words were the signal for a general uproar. The others fell upon Berry and rent him. As it died down, we heard him bitterly comparing them to wolves and curs about a lion at bay. Then a match was struck and there were groping sounds.

"When you've quite finished with my feet," said Daphne in a withering tone.

"Sorry, dearest. I thought it was a bag of meal," said her husband. "My thoughts run on food just now, you see." Here he gave a yell of agony. "Get off!" he screamed. "You're on my hand."

"That's more like it," said Jonah. "That ought to carry."

"Meal-bags don't hurt, do they?" said Daphne coolly. My sister is proud of her dainty feet.

"Vixen," replied her spouse.

I slipped my arm into that of the girl, who was leaning against the wall shaking with laughter. Tears were coursing down my cheeks. I drew her away from the door and whispered brokenly in her ear. She nodded and pulled herself together. Then she went to the door and knocked. Silence.

"Hullo," she said.

"Er-hullo," said Berry.

"I thought I heard somebody calling," said the girl.

"Er—did you?" said Berry.

"Yes, but I'm afraid I must have been mistaken. Perhaps it was some boys calling. Good-bye."

There was a perfect shriek of "Don't go" from Daphne and Jill. Then:

"You idiot!" said Daphne. "Let me." We heard her advance to the door.

"I say," she purred, "it's awfully sweet of you to have come. We did call. You see, it sounds awfully silly, but we're locked in."

"Oh, how dreadful for you," said the girl.

"Yes, isn't it? There's no key-hole this side."

"How awfully tiresome. Have you been there long?"

"Oh, no. Only a few moments. We just came to see the place."

"Well, do you think you can manage to throw the key out of the window? Then I could unlock the door for you, couldn't I?"

"Oh, thank you so very much. If you don't mind waiting a minute—er—it's so dark in here and so confusing that—"

"You don't mean to say you've lost the key?" said the girl.

"Oh, it's not lost," said Daphne. "It's just here somewhere. One of us laid it down for a moment and, really, in this darkness you can't see anything. If we only had some more matches—"

"I've got a box," I said. A long silence followed my words. Then:

"My dear lady," said Berry. "Are you still there?"

"Yes," said my companion, her voice shaking a little.

"Then I beseech you to have no dealing with the being whose vile accents I heard but a moment ago. A man of depraved instincts and profligate ways, he is no fit companion for a young and innocent girl. Moreover, viper-like, he bears malice towards us, who have shielded him for years."

"How awful," said the girl.

"Yes," said Berry, "for your own sake, dear lady, beware of him. And for ours, too, I beg you. On no account accept his proffered assistance—in the matter of the key, I mean. If he really has matches, tell him to throw them in. Adopt a hectoring tone and he will fear you. But, remember, he is as cunning as a serpent, Let but that key fall into his hands—"

"Wait till it's fallen into your own hands, old cock," said I.

"Dear lady," said Berry, "you hear his ribald—"

The rest of the sentence was drowned in the peals of laughter to which my companion at last gave vent. I joined her, and the meadow resounded with our merriment. When we had recovered a little:

"Will you have the matches?" said I, standing beneath the window, "or shall I send for the battering ram?"

"Throw them in, fathead," said my brother-in-law.

"Ask nicely, then."

"I'll see you—"

"Please, Boy, dear," cried Jill.

I laughed and pitched the box into the kitchen. The next second we heard a match struck, and the groping sounds recommenced. The girl and I strolled a little back from the window and stood, awaiting the key.

"So it's all come true," said I, looking at her.

"What has?"

"The fairy tale." I pointed to the kitchen. "There is the copper castle, and here"—with a bow—"the pretty Princess. The tinder-box I have just thrown to my companions."

"And I suppose you're the soldier," she said slowly.

"Yes," I said, "the common soldier."

"Common?"

"Yes, dear," I said, taking her hand. "Common, but thorough; thoroughly common, but uncommonly thorough. And now look at me, pretty Princess."

She turned a laughing face to mine. Suddenly, as I bent forward, the eyes flashed.

"I suppose this is the little smile's fault, too," she said quietly.

Instantly I released her hand and stood up, smiling.

"No," I said gently. "It would have been the soldier's."

For a moment she smiled back. Then she slipped an arm round my neck.

"Let's call it Hans Andersen's," she whispered.

A perfect Babel arose suddenly from the kitchen. In the midst of the turmoil I seemed to discern Berry's fat laugh. The next second a large key hurtled through the window.

I picked it up and strode to the door. When I had put it into the keyhole, I paused.

"Buck up, Boy!" said Berry.

"One question," said I. "Where was the key?"

"Where d'you think?" said Jonah bitterly.

"In his pocket all the time?" said I.

"Right," said Berry. "Now do your worst."

"I'm going to," said I. "I'm going to let you out."



CHAPTER VII

EVERY PICTURE TELLS A STORY

The front door banged. Followed quick steps on the steep, uncarpeted stairs, and a knock on the studio's door.

"Come in," said I.

The door opened and a girl in a lilac dress swept into the room.

"I'm afraid I'm awfully la—O-o-oh!" she said.

"If it isn't her!" said I.

For a moment we stood looking at one another with big eyes. Then:

"Where's Mr. Larel?" she demanded.

"He'll be here in a moment. Won't you sit down? He and I are old friends."

She smiled.

"I know," she said.

"He's told me—"

"The devil he has," said I.

A little peal of laughter.

"As I feared," said I.

"My dear, you've been misled. Yes. That over there is a chair. It cost three and ninepence in the King's Road. Local colour, you know. He's putting it in his new picture, 'Luxury'."

Still smiling, she took her seat. Then:

"He said you were awful," she said.

Till a fortnight ago, I had not seen George Larel for quite five years. Not since we had been at Oxford together. When he went down, he left England, to study, I understood. He always drew rather well. Then one spring morning I struck him in Piccadilly, by the railings of the Green Park. He was standing still, a large, blue air-ball in his hand, steadfastly regarding the Porters' Rest. Our greeting was characteristic.

"Well, George," said I. He looked round.

"Hullo, old chap." He pointed to the Rest. "Rather nice, that. Pity there aren't more. Why didn't they keep the Pike at Hyde Park Corner?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I begged them to," said I. "But you know what they are."

George looked at me critically. Then:

"That's a good hat," he said. "I'd like to paint you just as you are." He stepped back and half closed his eyes. "Yes, that'll do. When can you come? I always said I would, you know," he added.

"You're very good, George. Come to the club and—"

He shook his head. "We'll talk, when you come. I've got to go to Richmond now." He pointed to the air-ball. "There was a child there yesterday, playing in the Park, with eyes—I've only seen their like once before. That was in Oporto." He sighed. "Will you come to-morrow at eleven? Cheyne Row. I forget the number, but it's got a green door."

"I'd love to."

He hailed a taxi.

"That's right, then." He turned to the driver. "Go to Richmond," he said, opening the door.

As it moved, he put his head out of the window.

"Mind you wear that hat, old boy."

The next morning I had my first sitting. It was a great success. There was much to say, and we talked furiously for three hours. And all the time I sat still upon the throne, and George painted. About his work he said little, but I gathered that he had begun to do well. He mentioned that he had had two or three commissions.

"I'm on that now," he said carelessly, during one of my rests. He was pointing to a canvas, which leaned—face inwards—against the wall. I walked across the studio, and turned it round. A girl's picture. A girl in a flowered dress and a shady hat, her slight shining legs crossed at the knee. Sitting square in the high-backed chair, he was painting her, one small hand on each of its rosewood arms. The face was most of all unfinished.

"You've got those legs well," said I, "And I like the dress. She looks rather lovely, as far as one can tell without seeing the face."

George laughed.

"She's all right," he said.

At the end of my second sitting George picked up a knife and began deliberately to scrape out all the work he had done that morning. I watched him, petrified with horror.

"Sorry, old chap," he said, smiling.

"Stop," I cried. "I like that curve of the nostril. It denotes the force of character which has made me what I am."

George went on ruthlessly.

"I want it to be good of you," he said simply. Half way through my third sitting George gave a cry and flung off his coat.

"What's the matter?" said I. "Something biting—?

"Talk, man," he said, seizing his palette. "Just talk. Don't mind how I answer. I'm going to paint. By Jove, how I'm going to paint!"

Clearly the fit was upon him. These artists! Not daring to disobey, I talked and talked. Heaven knows what I said. After an hour my tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, but I talked on. And all the time George alternately bent his brews upon me, and hung himself at the canvas, uttering strange, smothered cries and oaths, but painting, painting.... At a quarter past two he laid down his palette and cried to me to descend. Stiffly I did so.