"I came straight across here, seeing you the moment I entered the gate.

Perhaps I had better see my sister before we begin to talk. Our conversation may be long."

Lionel moved uneasily.

"I am sorry to say," he began, "that your sister feels anything but well-disposed toward you. She resents your suspicion, and ... and...."

he stuck fast.

"Refuses to see me?" she suggested.

He nodded. "I have hopes of winning her over yet, but...."

"If she has said 'No' she will stick to it," said Beatrice, digging her parasol into the lawn. "She can be a darling, but she can also be pig-headed. What do you think of her?" she added quickly, turning upon him.

"Charming," said Lionel. "Except for this unfortunate weakness. And there is some excuse even for that."

"Do you consider her pretty?" It sounded an odd question, but oddities were lost on him now.

"Yes; very pretty."

"As pretty as I?" asked Beatrice.

"Quite," he laughed, beginning to feel more at home, "but in a different way. And I prefer your way," he added with sincerity.

"That is a little crude," she smiled. "I expected a more delicate compliment from a man of your education. Please pay me one at once."

To be asked for a delicate compliment at a moment's notice must be much the same as if the _Punch_ editor were asked for a joke instanter. You can imagine Mr. Seaman being introduced with, "This is Mr.

Seaman--_Punch_, you know." "How charming! Please, Mr. Seaman, be good enough to be funny," and the resulting _debacle_ of Mr. Seaman. Lionel felt empty of all wit and ideas. He simply looked at her and shook his head.

"I am sorry ... you have silenced me."

She smiled provokingly. "Try!"

He shook his head again with a sudden sadness. As he observed her, devotedly absorbing every detail of her dress, her charming att.i.tude, her delicate color, the dainty foot in the lavender stocking and trim black shoe pushed seductively forward, the glorious hair, and brilliance of her eyes, the incarnation of youth and joy (and he excused her that, remember, for the compulsion of her marriage), he groaningly realized that his late logic would not hold. He loved her and wanted her: he knew that he would not be mercenary in asking, but he felt he could not after all. To think of asking for such a lovely creature, without a penny of his own--he could not do it. He was wrong, he told himself, and felt that his ideals were true, but it was impossible. His face grew grim as he looked at her. The smile faded from her lips.

"What is it?" she said softly. "Is anything the matter, my ... friend?"

He was near the breaking-point, and had that moment continued he might have told her all. But an interruption--a twentieth-century interruption--saved him.

From the deeps of the air was heard a dull humming. The noise increased every moment, and Beatrice looked perplexedly about her. "Do you hear it," she asked, "that curious noise?... Like a gigantic bee...."

Lionel had heard a similar noise before and was not perplexed. "It must be an aeroplane," he said rea.s.suringly: "it sounds as if it were quite close. Perhaps that clump of trees hides its approach."

His surmise proved correct, for in a brief s.p.a.ce the machine soared into view like some beautiful bird. "There it is!" they cried together, standing like two delighted children watching a kindly rock from the _Arabian Nights_. "Why! what is it going to do?" continued Beatrice, speaking as if the monoplane were a living creature. "See! it has changed its course ... it is circling round like a bird of prey."

"It looks as if he meant to land," said Lionel, "and was seeking for a suitable place. Yes, by jove! he's found it. Now watch!"

The air-man had shut off his engine, for the buzzing ceased, and he came down to earth, with a graceful swoop that enchanted Beatrice, on a bit of level pasture two fields away. "Come on!" cried Beatrice excitedly.

"Let's go and have a look! I've never seen an aeroplane close to."

Lionel smiled at her enthusiasm, and they set off at a brisk pace.

Leaving the garden by the little wicket at the back, they crossed the tiny stream, dignified by the name of Shere, and walked on, chatting happily till they were close upon the air-man. They could see him walking round his machine, examining it with a parent's care, pulling here, patting there, testing the tension of a wire, inspecting the engine. Suddenly Beatrice stopped short. "Bother!" she said impatiently.

"I've left my hanky in the garden. I wonder if you'd mind----"

"Of course," said Lionel, glad, you may be sure, of the lightest service. "You go on and learn to fly. I'll join you in five minutes."

He left Beatrice and ran back to the garden. But in spite of the most careful search he could not see any trace of the handkerchief. He searched the lawn, the chairs, the drive, but no handkerchief was visible. "She must have lost it in the train," he thought, "or dropped it on the road. Well, that's soon remedied."

Going into the house, he rang the dining-room bell. It was answered by Forbes. "Get me a clean handkerchief, please," said Lionel. To his utter amazement Forbes said "Yes, sir," and prepared to leave the room.

"Hi!" said Lionel, and Forbes stopped, flushing a dull red. Lionel pulled himself together with an effort. "Excuse me, Forbes," said he, striving to speak calmly: "I understood you were dumb. Has the age of miracles revived, or what?"

Forbes bowed discreetly.

"Our local doctor is a very clever surgeon, sir," he replied blandly. "I think you said a handkerchief, sir?"

He disappeared....

"Cleverness, Forbes," said Lionel when the footman returned, "is not confined to doctors. I congratulate you ... on the recovery of speech."

"Thank you, sir," said Forbes with a well-bred humility. "I find it a great blessing, I own. It opens out a new world."

He held the door, and Lionel pa.s.sed out, his brain sagging heavily. A few minutes later he rejoined Beatrice, who had more surprises in store.

She was chatting merrily with the air-man as he came up.

"This is great luck!" she said cheerfully to the astonished Lionel.

"Here's an old friend of mine dropped from the skies--yes!

literally!--to pay a friendly call. Let me introduce you: Mr.

Mortimer--Mr. Ashford Billing, my late manager."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr. Billing," said Lionel mechanically. "I've heard your name before."

"And I yours, Mr. Mortimer," replied Billing with genuine heartiness.

"It's a real pleasure to meet a man who can write like you."

"I don't understand," said Lionel. "How can you know anything of my work? It's not attracted much notice yet."

Billing laughed.

"Shall I tell him?" he asked, turning to the lady.

"Bags I!" said Beatrice, laughing: "that must be my royalty, or commission, if you prefer it. First of all, let me explain his presence.

He called on me this afternoon and found that I was out----"

"_As_ usual," interrupted Billing.

"And learned where I had gone from my servant. Then, being in a hurry----"