Bancroft kissed the tips of her fingers, holding them lightly to his mouth with two fingers and a thumb.

"I met Mistress Cleone in the market-place," he told her. "Conceive my surprise, madam, my joyful ecstasy!"

"Indeed!" stammered madam. "In the market-place—to be sure."

"Mr. Bancroft was so kind as to relieve me of my basket," explained her daughter. "He pretends that he had not forgot me, Mamma! But he cannot deceive me."

"He never sought to deceive you, Mistress Cleone. He spoke sooth when he said your image had remained with him throughout."

"Take him into the garden, Cleone," begged madam. "He will wish to see your papa."

It had not occurred to Mr. Bancroft, but he swallowed it with a good grace.

"Will you conduct me thither, Mistress Cleone?" He bowed, one arm extended.

Cleone laid the tips of her fingers on the arm.

"Certainly, sir. We shall find Papa among the roses." They walked to the door.

"The roses!" sighed Mr. Bancroft. "A fit setting for your beauty, dear Cleone."

Cleone gave a little gurgle of laughter.

"'Tis Papa's beauty they frame, sir, not mine," she replied.

Twenty minutes later Sir Maurice walked into the rose-garden to find Bancroft and Cleone seated in an arbour engaged in close converse, while Mr. Charteris nipped off the dead flowers nearby.

Mr. Charteris welcomed his visitor with a wave of his large scissors.

"Good day, Sir Maurice! What a very pleasant, warm day it is, to be sure! Did you ride over to see us?"

Sir Maurice drew him apart.

"I met that—that rainbow in the village. What a plague is it? What does he do here?"

Mr. Charteris' chubby countenance was wreathed in a great, sly smile, suspiciously like a grin.

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