Later, seated side by side on the sofa, Peter told her of the little lady in the wood. She listened, her hands in his, and at the end of the story her eyes were wet.

“Poor little lady! She just disappeared? She didn’t come back?”

“No. She dived into the bushes, laughing. She had the most extraordinary laugh, Ruth. Like tiny silver bells, only that sounds rather rot. Frightfully fascinating, and a bit—what shall I call it?—elfin. She had an elfish little face, too.”

“I wonder who she was? She didn’t tell you her name?”

“No. At least, yes. She said her name was Bride, and that she used to live at Carbury Place. By the way, darling, that’s a topping old house! You've no idea what a lovely part of the world it is down there. I’m going to take you one day. It’s not far, though I spent hours getting there.” He laughed. “I haven’t the vaguest notion as to how I managed to get so hopelessly lost!”

She reached up her hand to stroke his face.

“I have,” she said. “Poor old Peter! Oh, my dear, I thought you’d never come back!”

“Sweetheart!” He caught her to him.

A LADY and gentleman walked into the parlour of the Three Fishers’ Inn. The land-lady, Mrs. Tippit, came forward. She recognised Peter, and dropped a bob-curtsey, smiling.

“It’s pleased I am to see you, sir!”

Peter shook hands.

“I’ve brought my fiancée down to lunch, Mrs. Tippit.”

Mrs. Tippit dropped another curtsey.

“Eh, dear!”

She beamed upon Ruth, who blushed a little, and dimpled.

Peter struggled out of his light overcoat.

“Mrs. Tippit, I wonder if you could help us? We want to find a certain lady whom I met in the woods when I was staying here. ’Fraid I can’t tell you much about her, ’cept that she was young, with short curls, and dressed in a rather eccentric way.” He tossed his motoring-gloves on to the table. “She said she used to live at Carbury Place. Oh, and her name was Bride! Does that convey anything to you?”

The landlady placed a chair for Ruth, and shook her head with a short sigh.

“Ah, sir! So you met Miss Bride? Everyone knows her, poor little lady. You understand, sir, that she’s—” Mrs. Tippit touched her forehead significantly. “Not—not quite mad, sir, if you know what I mean, but sort of soft, as we say in these parts.”

Peter sat down on the edge of the table.

“Yes. I guessed that, of course. She did me a jolly good turn, and I want to find her. Where does she live, and what is her name?”

“Flower, sir. She’s Colonel Flower’s daughter. Him that used to own the Place, before the war." Mrs. Tippit sighed again. “County, sir. Not like the present owners. They made their money in soap, or jam, I forget which. Colonel Flower had to sell the Place during the war. It were a ter’ble blow, sir, I give you my word. Carbury Place had been in the family for generations, you see. They live at Red Roofs now. About a mile to the west of the Place.”