How queer to think that people could say, almost certainly did say, that she was marrying Tommy for his money. Now they would be rich. Gerald had had everything—Cambridge, holidays at Monte Carlo, money for actresses. And now it would be Tommy’s. But all that was merely a joke, so long as Tommy never believed it. And he never shall believe it, Anne promised him.

“Well, here we are.”

Edward had opened the garden gates. Swinging on them like an urchin, he waved his hat to Maurice and Tommy as they drove past and round the sundial to the front door. Maurice swerved too sharply, crushing a bit of turf from the corner of the grass with his wheel.

“I’m awfully sorry,” he said to Tommy, jumping out. “I’ve spoilt your lovely lawn.”

The others followed stiffly, stretching themselves. Gathered in the shelter of the porch. Edward, having closed the gates, came bounding across the garden towards them.

“How incredible this is,” he said to Mary, “I feel as if I’d just arrived for the Christmas holidays.”

“Why,” asked Pamela, “have you been here before?”

“It was some time ago.” Edward grinned.

“Ring the bell, Tommy,” said Maurice.

Tommy rather solemnly advanced and rang the bell. They waited. Now that the engines of the cars were stopped, there was a deathly silence. You could hear the trees dripping in the park.

“No one at home,” said Edward.

“It’s awfully early,” said Maurice, as though apologising to some one. Curiously enough, none of them had fully realised this. They looked at each other guiltily.

“I don’t suppose anybody’s up yet,” said Margaret.

“Hadn’t we better clear off for a bit?”

“Let’s go and knock them up at the Station Inn,” suggested Mary.

But Tommy, with a decision which reminded them that he was junior master of the house, merely pressed the bell again. They waited. It was cold.

“Is there any of that beer left?” asked Edward. Mary shook her head. Earle, who’d stayed in the dickey, now climbed out, cautiously, being careful not to disturb Georges, who was sound asleep again.

“What I like,” said Edward, grinning with pure glee, “is that you can’t hear the bell ring. It’s such a long way off. Do you know,” he added, turning to Earle, “the bell rings at least a quarter of a mile from here?”

“Is that so?” said Earle politely.

“Don’t you believe him, my dear,” said Margaret. “He’s only taking advantage of your innocence.”

“I expect it’s out of order,” said Tommy.

“You’d much better leave them alone till breakfast-time,” Mary said.

But Tommy sternly shook his head. His honour as host was, it seemed, at stake. Mary felt sorry for him. It was really no fault of his, for he’d never suggested this mad expedition. That, naturally, had been Maurice’s idea, inspired by Edward. And last night it had certainly seemed amusing to pack into the cars and go racing off through the suburbs, mildly drunk, shouting and singing. One always forgets that car drives take such a long time. Like that awful occasion when Edward had persuaded them to set off at a few minutes’ notice for Penzance. They’d ended up in an hotel at Bournemouth, where the food was beneath criticism.