"Oh, I am not hard up. Colonel Saumarez had only his army pay, but my estates lie near Hamburg, and you know how that port has grown of recent years."

"Do you never reside there?"

Mrs. Saumarez inclined a pink-lined parasol so that its reflected tint mingled with the rush of color which suffused her face. Had the worthy vicar given a moment's thought to the matter, he would have known that his companion wished she had bitten her tongue before it wagged so freely.

"I prefer English society to German," she answered, after a slight pause.

Oddly enough, this statement was literally true, but she dared not qualify it by the explanation that an autocratic government exacted heavy terms for permitting her to draw a large revenue from her Hamburg property.

Blissfully unaware of treading on anyone's toes, Mr. Herbert pursued the theme.

"In my spare hours I take an interest in law," he said. "Your marriage made you a British subject. Does German law raise no difficulty as to alien ownership of land and houses?"

"My family, the von Edelsteins, have great influence."

This time the vicar awoke to the fact that he might be deemed unduly inquisitive. He knew better than to apologize, or even change the subject abruptly.

"Land tenure is a complex business in old-established countries," he went on. "Take this village, for example. You may have noticed how every garth runs up the hillside in a long, narrow strip. Ownership of land bordering the moor carries the right of free grazing for a certain number of sheep, so every freeholder contrives to touch the heather at some point."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Saumarez, promptly interested, "that explains the peculiar shape of the Bolland land at the back of the White House. An admirable couple, are they not? And so medieval in their notions. I attended what they call a 'love feast' the other evening. John Bolland introduced me as 'Sister Saumarez.' When he became wrapped up in the service he reminded me, or, rather, filled my ideal, of a high priest in Israel."

"Was Eli Todd there?"

"The preacher? Yes."

"He is a fine fellow. Given to use a spiritual sledge-hammer, perhaps, but the implements of the Lord are many and varied. Far be it from me to gainsay the good work done by the dissenting congregations. If there were more chapels, there would be more churches in the land, Mrs.

Saumarez."

They had strolled away from the girls, and little did the vicar dream what deeps they had skirted in their talk.

Angle led Elsie to the swing.

"Try this," she said. "It's just lovely to feel the air sizzing past your ears."

"I have a swing," said Elsie, "but not like this one. It is a single rope, with a little crossbar, which I hold in my hands and propel with my feet. It is hard work, I a.s.sure you."

"Grand Dieu! So I should think."

"Oh!" cried Elsie, "you shouldn't say that."

"Vous me faites rire! You speak French?"

"Yes--a little."

"How stupid of me not to guess. I can say what I like before Martin Bolland. He is a nice boy--Martin."

"Yes," agreed Elsie shortly.

She blushed. They were in the swing now, and swooping to and fro in long rushes. Angle's black eyes were searching Elsie's blue ones. She t.i.ttered unpleasantly.

"What makes you so red when I speak of Martin?" she demanded.

"I am not red--that is, I have no reason to be."

"You know him well?"

"Do you mean Martin?"

"Sapristi!--I beg your pardon--who else?"

"I--I have only met him twice, to speak to. I have known him by sight for years."

"Twice? The first time when he killed that thing--the cat. When was the second?"

Angle was tugging her rope with greater energy than might be credited to one of her slight frame. The swing was traveling at a great pace. Her fierce gaze disquieted Elsie, to whom this inquisition was irksome.

"Let us stop now," she said.

"No, no. Tell me when next you saw Martin. I _must_ know."

"But why?"

"Because he became different in his manner all at once. One day he kissed me----"

"Oh, you _are_ horrid."

"I swear it. He kissed me last Wednesday afternoon. I did not see him again until Sat.u.r.day. Then he was cold. He saw you after Wednesday."

By this time Elsie's blood was boiling.

"Yes," she said, and the blue in her eyes held a hard glint. "He saw me on Wednesday night. We happened to be standing at our gate. Frank Beckett-Smythe pa.s.sed on his bicycle. He was chased by a groom--sent home to be horsewhipped--because he was coming to meet you."

"O l l!" shrilled Angle. "That was nine o'clock. Does papa know?"

Poor Elsie crimsoned to the nape of her neck. She wanted to cry--to slap this tormentor's face. Yet she returned Angle's fiery scrutiny with interest.

"Yes," she said with real heat. "I told him Martin came to our house, but I said nothing about Frank--and you. It was too disgraceful."

She jerked viciously at her rope to counteract the pull given by Angle.

The opposing strains snapped the crossbar. Both ropes fell, and with them the two pieces of wood. One piece tapped Angle somewhat sharply on the shoulder, and she uttered an involuntary cry.

The vicar and Mrs. Saumarez hurried up, but the swing stopped gradually.

Obviously, neither of the girls was injured.

"You must have been using great force to break that stout bar," said Mr.

Herbert, helping Angle to alight.

"Yes. Elsie and I were pulling against each other. But we had a lovely time, didn't we, Elsie?"