"Sweet. Only you ought to have bare brown legs."

"My dear man, this isn't the Garden of Eden."

"No? Some other Paradise, I suppose. Old Omar's, perhaps. Besides, I forgot. Dolls never go barefoot, do they?"

"Dolls?"

"Yes. Aren't you the 'great big beautiful doll' they sing of?"

She threw back her head, and laughed at that, pleasedly. Then she began to sing softly:

"Oh, you beautiful doll, You great big beautiful doll..."

We finished the verse together, the cows watching us with big eyes.

"I think we're rather good," said I, when it was over.

"I know we're both mad," said she. "And I don't feel a bit like singing really, either."

"Oh, great and beautiful one," said I, "what is the matter? Indicate to me the fly that dares to lurk in this fair bowl of ointment."

She looked away over the river. Then:

"After all, it's nothing to do with you."

"Nothing whatever." said I.

"Then why do you ask?"

"Something to say, I suppose. Is not the clemency of the weather delightful?"

"Yes, but those cows belong to me."

I laughed scornfully. Then:

"My aunt has four eggs," I said simply.

She turned away, ostensibly to pick a flower, but I saw her shoulders shaking. At length:

"There is a pig in the gra.s.s," she said. "Its name is Norval."

"The doll is on its hind legs," I replied, getting up. "As for me, is it not that I shall have been about to go? Adieu, mademoiselle."

"Er--au revoir, monsieur."

"That's better," said I. "And now, what's the trouble, my dear?"

Well, it was about the chauffeur. You see, she was spending the summer here in the chateau. Yes, the chateau above us, white on the hillside.

She and a companion--a girl--alone, with a household of their own, very happy, very comfortable...

"We are really, you know. Don't think we're suffragists. Truth is, I'd got about sick of men, and thought I'd take a rest. I heard of this old place to be let furnished, came to see if it was half as nice as it sounded, and never even went back to England to collect Betty.

Just couldn't leave it. Betty followed post-haste with the servants and heavy luggage, and--and--"

"And the parrot?" I hazarded.

"No. Oh, the linen and everything. I'd got the car with me. We've been here nearly two months now, and I love it more every day. Don't miss men a bit, either."

This last in an inimitable tone, half nonchalant, half defiant.

"I expect they do most of the missing."

"Thanks, awfully. However, I may tell you the family's been rather narky--"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Narky. Like a nark."

"Of course. How stupid of me! Same root as 'snirksome.' As you were."

"Well, rather ratty about it all. Said it was all ridiculous and unheard of."

"Did they use the word 'proceeding'?"

"They did."

"Ah!"

"The one thing that sort of stopped them from really doing anything was the fact that Betty was with me. Betty's dear, and they all know it.

And her being here, I suppose, seemed to save it from being what's called an 'impossible position.' Well, a week ago comes a letter from the Brethes--that's my uncle and aunt--saying they're motoring through Austria to Italy, and are going to stay a night at Laipnik on the way.

Would like to run over and see me, as they understand Savavic--that's me--is only thirty miles away. All very nice."

"Sweet of them." I agreed.

"Isn't it! Only, three days ago Betty gets a wire to say her mother's ill, and she has to bolt for the night train to Paris."

"Yes. So that uncle dear mustn't come to Savavic at any price. If he does, Betty's absence becomes apparent, and the good old 'impossible position' arises at once. Consequently, I send a nice letter to the one hotel at Laipnik 'to await arrival,' saying the road's so bad and hard to find that I'll come over to them instead of their coming here."

"Much as you would have loved them to see Savavic."

"Exactly. You're rather intelligent."

"Oh, I'm often like that. It's in the blood. Grandpa got his B.A.," I explained. "We've loaned his hood to the Wallace Collection. Go on."

"Well, that all sounds very nice and easy, doesn't it? Then, to put the lid on, my chauffeur breaks his arm yesterday afternoon."

"And the uncle's due when?"

"Slept at Laipnik last night. I was to have lunched with them to-day. Oh, the fat's in the fire all right this time. I may expect them any time after three." I reflected a moment. Then: