d 'ave bin joined by a Dutch dodger and settled
down on a Vaal sheep-farm, if the order 'adn't come 'ummin' along the wire
from 'Eadquarters that said, 'Jane 'Arris, you're to 'ave this bloke, and
no other. Till Death do you part. Everlasting--Amen!'"

There was so strong a flavour of Church about the final sentence that
Mrs. Keyse could not keep admiration out of her eyes.

Her own eyes dancing with mirthful amusement, Lynette looked from one to
the other of the unexpected visitors, and, tactfully changing the subject
of the conversation, hoped that they were enjoying their trip?--a query
which so obviously failed to evoke an expression of pleased assent in
either of the small, thin, wearied faces that she hastened to add:

"But perhaps this is the very beginning of your holiday? When did you
leave London?"

"Yes'dy mornin' at 'arf-past six," said W. Keyse, carefully avoiding her
eyes. A spasm contracted the tired face under the dusty peonies. Their
wearer put her hand to the collar of the green-and-yellow ulster, and
undid a button there.

"'Yesterday morning at half-past six'!" Lynette repeated in wonder.

"An' if the machine I 'ad on 'ire from a pal o' mine--chap what keeps a
second-hand shop for 'em in the Portland Road--'adn't 'ad everythink
'appen to 'er wot _can_ 'appen to a three-an'-a-'arf 'orse-power Baby
Junot wot 'ad seen 'er best d'ys before automobilin' 'ad cut its front
teeth," said W. Keyse, with bitterness, "we would 'ave bin 'ere before! As
it is, we've left the car at a little 'Temperance Tavern' in S'rewsbury,
kep' by a Methodist widder, 'oo thinks such new-fangled inventions
sinful--an' only consented to take charge on account o' the Prophet Elijer
a-going up to 'Eaven in a fiery chariot--an' come on 'ere by tryne."

Lynette looked at the man in silence. She even repeated after him, rather
dully:

"You came on here--by train?"

"Slow Parliamentary--stoppin' at every 'arf-dozen stytions," explained W.
Keyse, "for collectors in velveteens and Scotch caps to ask for tickets,
plyse? And but that the porter on the 'Erion Down Platform 'ad see you
walkin' on the Links, and my wife knoo your dress and the colour of your
'air 'arf a mile 'orf, we'd 'ave lost precious time in finding you, and
giving you the--the message what we've come 'ere to bring!"

"From my husband? From Dr. Saxham?"

W. Keyse shifted from one foot to the other, and coughed an embarrassed
cough.

"Not exac'ly from Dr. Saxh