"He's told me nothing." She paused, letting her imagination toy for a moment with the temptation to be silent; then she said: "The motor's a mile up the road, toward Thundertop. It broke down, and I left it there myself early this morning." The idea of allowing Lorry to bear the brunt of the storm had lasted no more than the taking of breath between two words; but it had stirred in her an old residuum of self-disgust. Yet she did wish she had got the car safely under cover before all this fuss!

Her mother stood staring at her with astonished eyes. "You, Halo? You had the car out in the middle of the night?"

"Yes. I had the car out. I went up to Thundertop to see the sunrise."

"With Lewis, darling?" Mrs. Spear's face brightened perceptibly; then it fell again. "But no, he was there just now when your father scolded poor Lorry, and of course if he'd been with you—"

"He wasn't with me. He doesn't know anything about it."

"Halo!" her mother moaned, "And you chose this time—when he'd just arrived!" She paused with a gesture of despair. "Who was with you?"

Halo, sliding out of bed, got her feet into her flopping Moroccan slippers, and began to gather up her sponge and towels preparatory to an advance to the bathroom. "Oh, nobody in particular. Just that young boy from the Tracys'—"

Mrs. Spear gasped out her perplexity. "Boy from Tracys'? You don't mean Upton?"

"Of course not. How ridiculous! I mean the cousin from the West that they've got staying there—the boy who's had typhoid fever. Didn't I tell you about him? He's rather extraordinary; full of talent, I believe; and starving to death for want of books, and of people he can talk to. I promised to spend an afternoon with him at the Willows, and let him browse in the library, and then I forgot all about it, and to make up for having chucked him I slipped out early this morning and ran him up to Thundertop to see the sunrise. It was glorious. And he read me some of his poems—he means to be a poet. I do believe there's something in him, Mother."

While Mrs. Spear listened the expression of her beautiful eyes passed from anxiety to a sympathetic exaltation. As her daughter was aware, one could never speak to Mrs. Spear of genius without kindling in her an irrepressible ardour to encourage and direct it.

"But, my dear, how interesting! Why didn't you tell me about him before? Couldn't George Frenside do something to help him? Couldn't he publish his things in The Hour? I do hope you asked him to come back to lunch?"