“Did you think we were the family ghost?”

They laughed.

“We were just discussing,” said Anne, “whether, if we ring up the mill, there’s a sporting chance of scoring a lunch.”

“My dear!” said Mary, “we can’t possibly all descend.”

“Father’d like it,” said Tommy earnestly, “he’s all alone. He’d never forgive me if he heard you’d been up here and I hadn’t brought you over.”

“Perhaps the others will want to be getting back.”

“You won’t be late. We can eat quite early. At twelve, if you like.”

“But are you sure, really, that it’s all right?”

“Perfectly,” said Tommy. “We’ll just run up to the Post Office in the car. It won’t take a quarter of an hour.”

So that was settled. Mary gave up the idea of a nap with a sigh. After all, it would be nice to see Ram’s B.

They were off down the stairs at once. Mary, at the window, saw Edward and Margaret come strolling across the garden. They were evidently having one of their mysterious private talks. Mary had years ago given up trying to guess exactly how things were going at any particular moment.

Edward looked up and saw Mary. He waved to her mechanically, not altering the tone of his voice as he asked:

“And how’s the latest? Is he from Oxford too?”

Margaret nodded:

“I seem doomed to instruct the young.”

“Was it his first go?”

“Really, my dear, you presume too far upon my female modesty.”

Edward grinned.

Chapter II

II

HIS hands folded upon his umbrella-handle, his head slightly bowed, Major Charlesworth was borne smoothly upwards in the lift, like a martyr ascending into heaven. At the door of Mrs. Vernon’s flat he paused for a moment before ringing, raised his fingers with a humble, saintly gesture to his thin moustache. To-day he felt so little sure of himself that it seemed necessary to rehearse even the half-dozen words he would have to say to the maid.

But it was Mrs. Vernon who opened the door:

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

This afternoon she seemed almost gay. She smiled:

“I’ve let the maid go out with her young man. We can make tea ourselves.”

Actually, there was nothing to do. The tea-things were set out ready on their lace-edged cloth. It was only necessary to bring the kettle to the boil and fill the silver tea-pot. She gave it to Ronald. He held it like a sacred vessel in a religious mystery. She smiled, pouring in the hot water:

“Be careful of your fingers!”

And when they were seated facing each other across the low table, she said:

“And now, tell me all about Thursday.”

On Thursday Ronald had been to a sale at an old house in Essex. She had been unable, at the last moment, to accompany him. Ronald described the remarkable collection of old prints. And there had been a set of chairs he had particularly admired.

“Oh! I do wish I’d been there,” she exclaimed.