ment," said Lady
Stilton. "Possibly a superior player."

"Oh, no, mother!" Lady Anne indignantly declared. "He would have played
for certain against Harrow, if he hadn't sprained his ankle at the nets
the week before."

"I do hope you'll let him come and see you this vacation," Lady Stilton
said.

"Oh, rather. I shall be awfully keen to talk about the cricket round
here," Alan replied. "I'm just planning out a new pitch now."

"How delightful all this is," thought Michael, with visions of summer
evenings.

Soon Lady Stilton and her daughter went away, having plainly been a
great success with Mr. and Mrs. Prescott-Merivale.

"Of course, _you've_ got to marry Anne," said Stella to Michael, as soon
as they were comfortably round the great fire in the library.

"Alan," Michael appealed. "Is it impossible for you to nip now forever
this bud of matchmaking?"

"I think it's rather a good idea," said Alan. "I knew young Varley by
sight. He's a very sound bat."

"I shan't come here again," Michael threatened, "until you've dissolved
this alliance of mutual admiration. Instead of agreeing with Stella to
marry me to every girl you meet, why don't you devote yourself to the
task of making Huntingdon a first-class county in cricket? Stella might
captain the team."

Time passed very pleasantly with long walks and rides and drives, with
long evenings of cut-throat bridge and Schumann; but on New Year's
morning Michael said he must go back to London. Nor would he let himself
be deterred by Stella's gibes.

"I admit you're as happy as you can be," he said. "Now surely you, after
so much generosity on my side, will admit that I may know almost as well
as yourselves how to make myself happy, though not yet married."

"Michael, you're having an affair with some girl," Stella said
accusingly.

He shook his head.

"Swear?"

"By everything I believe in, I vow I'm not having an affair with any
girl. I wish I were."

His luggage was in the hall, and the dogcart was waiting. At King's
Cross he found a taxi, which was so difficult to do in those days that
it made him hail the achievement as a good omen for the New Year.

Near South Kensington Station he caught sight of a poster advertising a
carnival in the neighborhood: he thought it looked rather attractive
with the bright colors glowing into the gray January day. Later on in
the afternoon, when he went to his tobacconist's in the King's Road, he
saw the poster again and