his blue-eyed daughter.

The third member of the party was a man, a stranger to me. By some
miracle of adroitness he had captured Aunt Elizabeth, and was holding
her in spite of her protests in a workmanlike manner behind the wings.

CHAPTER VII

THE ENTENTE CORDIALE IS SEALED

There are moments and moments. The present one belonged to the more
painful variety.

Even to my exhausted mind it was plain that there was a need here for
explanations. An Irishman's croquet-lawn is his castle, and strangers
cannot plunge in through hedges without inviting comment.

Unfortunately, speech was beyond me. I could have emptied a water-butt,
laid down and gone to sleep, or melted ice with a touch of the finger,
but I could not speak. The conversation was opened by the other man, in
whose restraining hand Aunt Elizabeth now lay, outwardly resigned but
inwardly, as I, who knew her haughty spirit, could guess, boiling with
baffled resentment. I could see her looking out of the corner of her
eye, trying to estimate the chances of getting in one good hard peck
with her aquiline beak.

"Come right in," said the man pleasantly. "Don't knock."

I stood there, gasping. I was only too well aware that I presented a
quaint appearance. I had removed my hat before entering the hedge, and
my hair was full of twigs and other foreign substances. My face was
moist and grimy. My mouth hung open. My legs felt as if they had ceased
to belong to me.

"I must apol-- ..." I began, and ended the sentence with gulps.

The elderly gentleman looked at me with what seemed to be indignant
surprise. His daughter appeared to my guilty conscience to be looking
through me. Aunt Elizabeth sneered. The only friendly face was the
man's. He regarded me with a kindly smile, as if I were some old friend
who had dropped in unexpectedly.

"Take a long breath," he advised.

I took several, and felt better.

"I must apologise for this intrusion," I said successfully.
"Unwarrantable" would have rounded off the sentence neatly, but I would
not risk it. It would have been mere bravado to attempt unnecessary
words of five syllables. I took in more breath. "The fact is, I
did--didn't know there was a private garden beyond the hedge. If you
will give me my hen ..."

I stopped. Aunt Elizabeth was looking away, as if endeavouring to
create an impression of having nothing to do with me. I am told by one
who knows that hens cannot raise their eyebrows, not having