“In five minutes’ time I think I shall propose to you again,” he said. “I’m sorry you’re so sick of everything.”

“I’ve found a remedy,” said Cicely. “I am going into seclusion.”

“What? Into a convent?”

“No, silly. I am going into the country. I’ve taken a cottage.”

“Cottage? You? D’you mean to say Uncle Jim's mad enough to let you go off on your own?”

“Daddy knows that I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, thank you.”

“Where is he?” demanded Richard, preparing to get up.

“He's out. Besides, it’s nothing to do with you. As a matter of fact, I'm not going by myself.”

Spalding looked slightly relieved.

“I’m going with a great friend of mine, Maisie Duncannon.”

“What, that fat, stolid girl who’s been hanging round here lately?”

“Y–es. That’s one way of describing her. Are you satisfied?

“No, I’m not!”

Cicely reached out her hand to stroke her diminutive Pekinese. “Chu-Chu San is going, of course.”

“That puts quite a different complexion on it,” he said. “He’ll look nice in the country. Stir the villagers up a bit.”

“He’s a lot pluckier than your rotten bull-terrier!” said Cicely fiercely.

Spalding brightened.

“I say, will you take Bill? Do, Cis! I’d feel a lot happier about you if you’d got a decent sort of guard.”

“Chu-Chu is a good guard!”

“Oh, rather!” said Richard hastily. “But you must admit, he’s a bit small, what? Take old Bill—please! I’ve been wanting to get him out of town for some time.”

Cicely hesitated. She knew that the last statement was entirely without truth, but she reflected that Bill would bring with him a certain sense of security.

“He’d miss you,” she said, uncertainly.

“Not a bit of it. Besides—” Richard checked himself. “Do take him, old girl!”

“It’s awfully nice of you,” Cicely thanked him. “If you think it ’ud do him good—”

“I do, most decidedly. By the way, where is this cottage?

“Bly—I’m not going to tell you! No one’s going to know ’cept Daddy, and he’s promised not to tell a soul.”

“Bly. I’ll remember that.”

“You’ll never find it!”

Richard recognised the challenging note.

“Like to have a bet on it? An even bob?”

“I don’t mind. My money’s safe.”'

Richard smiled, and made a note in his pocket-book.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched,” he said.

THE pony trotted down the village street in a leisurely, abstracted way, paying no heed to his mistress’s voice. The excited barking of Chu-Chu San he took to be an encouragement to him to proceed. He ambled on.

“Whoa!” said Cicely, sharply. She tugged at the reins. “Whoa!” she repeated, more as a request. The pony still ambled on. “Oh, please, whoa!” begged Cicely. “Timothy dear!”

Timothy waggled one ear to show that he was attending to her. Chu-Chu-San yapped again and he waggled the other, accelerating his pace.

“Shut up, Chu-Chu! Whoa, you! Stop!”

Farther down the street a man stood, watching the pony advance. He was dressed in rough tweeds and riding-breeches, with stout leather gaiters, and he carried a short riding-crop. He observed Cicely’s struggles without a smile. When the trap drew alongside he stepped forward and caught the rein. Timothy halted obediently and looked round.