The car tore on.

"We're coming to where I used to gather the mushrooms," my companion announced.

"Barefoot?"

"Sometimes."

"Because of the dew?"

She nodded.

I sighed. Then--

"Up to now I've been feeling like a large brandy and a small soda," I said. "Now I feel like a sonnet. What is your name, and who gave you that name?"

"I'm sure that's not necessary. I've seen a sonnet 'To a lady upon her birthday.'"

"As you please. Shall I post it to you or pin it to a tree in Battersea Park?"

Miss Childe nodded her head in the direction in which we were going.

"That," she said, "is the house."

At the end of a long avenue of elms I could see the bold flash of windows which the afternoon sun had set afire, and a moment later we swept by the front of an old red mansion and round into a paved court that lay on its farther side.

Here was a door open, and in front of this my companion brought the car to a standstill.

I handed her out. She rang the bell and entered. I followed her in.

"Like to look round the house?" said Miss Childe. "We've given up showing it since the Suffragettes, but if you could give me a reference----"

"Messrs. Salmon and Gluckstein," said I, "are my solicitors."

My lady pointed to a door at the end of the flagged pa.s.sage in which we stood.

"That'll take you into the hall," she said. "I'll come and find you when I've seen the servants."

I saluted and broke away in the direction she had indicated.

There was a closet that opened out of the great gallery. No door hung in the doorway and I could see china ranged orderly against the panelling of the walls. I descended its two stairs, expecting to find it devoted to china and nothing else. But I was wrong. Facing the window and the sunshine was a facsimile of the tallboy chest which I had coveted so fiercely two hours before.

I gazed at it spell-bound.

"It's very rude to stare," said a voice.

I turned to see Miss Childe framed in the doorway.

Her gown was of apricot, with the bodice cut low and the skirt gathered in loops to show her white silk petticoat, which swelled from under a flowered stomacher so monstrously, that the tiny blue-heeled slipper upon the second stair seemed smaller than ever. Deep frills of lace fell from her short sleeves and a little lace cap was set on her thick dark hair.

I swallowed before replying. Then--

"It's a lovely chest," I said lamely.

"Picked wood," said Miss Childe. "Flogged once a week for years, that tree was."

"Flogged?"

"Certainly."

Suddenly the air was full of music, and a jubilant chorus of voices was singing l.u.s.tily--

"_A woman, a spaniel, and a walnut-tree, The more you beat them, the better they be._"

As the melody faded--

"I told you so," said Miss Childe. "What about the b.u.t.ter and eggs? Will you pay for them, or shall I have them sent?"

I handed her the largest one pound note I have ever seen.

"Thanks," she said shortly. "Change at Earl's Court."

A peal of boy's laughter floated in at the open window.

"Who's that?" said I.

"Love," said Miss Childe. "The locksmiths are here, and he's laughing at them. I think it's rather unkind myself. Besides----"

A burst of machine-gun fire interrupted her.

As the echoes died down--

"You smell of potpourri," said I.

"Probably. I made three bags full this morning. Bead bags. Do you mind putting some coal on the fire? If there aren't any tongs, use the telephone."

There was no fireplace and no coal-scuttle, so I took off my right boot and put it in the bottom drawer of the tallboy instead.

"Number, please," said Miss Childe, who had entered the closet and was standing a-tiptoe before a mirror to adjust a patch beneath her left eye.

"Lot 207," said I.

"Line's engaged," said Miss Childe. "Didn't you see it in _The Times_?"

By way of answer, I threw a large plate at her. She seemed more pleased than otherwise with the attention, and began to pluck the delicate flowers with which it was painted and gather them into a nosegay. In some dudgeon, I blew a small jug of great beauty on to a carved prie-dieu, to which it adhered as though made of some slimy substance.

"Cannon," said my lady. "Shall I put you on?"