ven here in the narrow orchard, life with
its coming possibilities, its increasing riches. She was glad to be
alone at that moment if only to share a thought with the poet who at
this period held sway over her mind.

The previous evening had been one of great moment to her and she was
joyfully thankful to find that it obscured and clouded no particle of
the daily simple joy of her existence. She had claimed this day to
herself, free from all new issues to prove this point, and her heart
sang with content for what had been, was, and would be.

The orchard gate clicked, and looking through the intervening boughs
and leaflets, she saw Christopher coming across the grass towards her
with his even, swinging step.

In her rough grey dress she was as part of the rough tree herself. Her
golden head and the delicate lovely colouring of her face rivalled
the tree's darling blossoms, so Christopher thought when he reached
her. He came straight to her through the maze of old and young trees
and had the exquisite joy of seeing her flush with surprise and
pleasure at sight of him. Here indeed she felt was the one addition to
her day that she needed. She did not descend from her perch, and it
was his hand which steadied her there when excitement imperilled her
throne.

"To come down on us without warning like this!" she expostulated,
smiling down at him. "Why, we might have had no leisure to see you or
luncheon to give you! When did you actually come?"

"Half an hour and five minutes ago. I've seen Caesar and St. Michael,
and I've had luncheon."

"And have you come to stay?"

"I don't know yet." He leant his arm on the bough where she sat, which
was of exactly convenient height.

"The amount of leisure you seem to have on hand," said Patricia
severely, "is outrageous, considering how hard the rest of the family
work."

"Especially Nevil," laughed Christopher.

"Especially Nevil. We have not sat down to a meal with him for three
weeks. He nearly walked on Max's puppy last week and he has forgotten
Charlotte's existence except as a penwiper--she went in to him one
morning with a message and came out with an ink smudge on her red
dress--she _said_ it was his pen--the dress is the same colour as the
penwiper, so she may be right. He paid no attention to the message."

"Well, at present, if you take the trouble to go into the Rosery you
will find Nevil lying by the fountain catching goldfish with Max. I do
not think he remem