lunch, not to listen to maudlin memories of the Great War. Did I ever tell you that a Spaniard once compared me to that elusive bloom to be found only upon the ungathered apricot?"

"How much did you lend him?" said I.

"Perhaps he knew more about ferns," said Miss Childe.

"Blind from birth, I suppose," said Jonah's voice.

My brother-in-law rose to his feet and looked about him with the expression of one who has detected an offensive odour.

"He was a man of singular insight and fine feeling," he said. "At the time of his outburst I was giving evidence against him for cruelty to a bullock. And now, for goodness' sake, somebody collect Jill and let's have some lunch."

"As a matter of fact," said Miss Childe, "I've come down to get some butter and eggs. They're usually sent, but the housekeeper's ill, and, as I was going spare, father suggested I should run down and pick them up."

Her voice sounded as if she was speaking from afar, and I knew that I must call up all my reserves of willpower if I was to remain awake.

"But Berry's with you, isn't he?"

"Yes. Your sister came to lunch yesterday and happened to mention that he wanted to go to Pistol to-day, so I offered him a lift. He's much nicer than any chauffeur."

"But whatever did he want to come to Pistol for?"

"Ah." From a great distance I watched Miss Childe's brown eyes take on a look of mischief that seemed at home in its bright setting. "He wouldn't tell you and he didn't tell Captain Mansel the truth, so I shan't give him away." She looked at a tiny wrist-watch. "And now I must be going. We want to start back at half-past three, and I've twenty-five miles to do before then."

"May I come with you?"

"Certainly. But——"

I stepped to where Jill was scribbling a note.

"We needn't start before half-past three," I said. "Will you wait for me?"

 Prev. P 32/262 next