rchie and Lord Talgarth were both up at the
house--indeed, she had caught sight of them in the red-curtained
chancel-pew this morning, and had exchanged five words with them both
after the service--and that in all other respects other things were as
they had been a month ago.

The Dean of Trinity had telegraphed in great dismay on the morning
following his first communication that Frank had gone, and that no one
had the slightest idea of his destination; he had asked whether he
should put detectives on the track, and had been bidden, in return,
politely but quite firmly, to mind his own business and leave Lord
Talgarth's younger son to Lord Talgarth.

It was a sleepy afternoon, even up here among the hills, and Jenny had
not read many pages before she became aware of it. The Rectory garden
was an almost perfect place for a small doze; the yews about her made a
grateful shade, and the limes behind them even further cooled the air,
and, when the breeze awoke, as one talking in his sleep, the sound about
her was as of gentle rain. The air was bright and dusty with insects;
from the limes overhead, the geranium beds, and the orchard fifty yards
away, came the steady murmur of bees and flies.

Jenny woke up twenty minutes later with a sudden start, and saw someone
standing almost over her. She threw her feet down, still bewildered by
the sudden change and the glare on which she opened her eyes, and
perceived that it was Jack Kirkby, looking very dusty and hot.

"I am so sorry," said Jack apologetically, "but I was told you were out
here."

She did not know Jack very well, though she had known him a long time.
She looked upon him as a pleasant sort of boy whom she occasionally met
at lawn-tennis parties and flower shows, and things like that, and she
knew perfectly how to talk to young men.

"How nice of you to came over," she said. "Did you bicycle? Have
something to drink?"

She made room for him on the seat and held out her second cigarette.

"It's your last," said Jack.

"I've lots more in the house."

She watched him as he lit it, and as the last shreds of sleep rolled
away, put the obvious question.

"You've news of Frank?"

Jack threw away the match and drew two or three draughts of smoke before
answering.

"Yes," he said.

"Where is he?"

"He gave an address at York, though he wasn't there when he wrote. I
sent your letter on there yesterday."

"Oh I did he give any account of himself?"

Jack l