an's line as most men.'

'Oh, I say!' Mr. Freddy looked round with a laugh.

Lord John threw out his chest and dangled his eyeglass with an indulgent
air.

'Philanthropy,' he said, 'in a woman like Miss Levering, is a form of
restlessness. But she's a _nice_ creature. All she needs is to get some
"nice" fella to marry her!'

Mrs. Freddy laughingly hooked herself on her husband's arm.

'Yes; a woman needs a balance wheel, if only to keep her from flying
back to town on a hot day like this.'

'Who,' demanded the host, 'is proposing anything so----'

'The Elusive One,' said Mrs. Freddy.

'Not Miss----'

'Yes; before luncheon.'

Dick Farnborough glanced quickly at the clock, and then his eyes went
questing up the great staircase. Lady John had met the chorus of
disapproval with--

'She must be in London by three, she says.'

Lord John stared. '_To-day?_ Why she only came late last night! What
must she go back for, in the name of----'

'Well, _that_ I didn't ask her. But it must be something important, or
she would stay and talk over the plans for the new Shelter.'

Farnborough had pulled out his cigarette case and stepped out through
the window into the garden. But he went not as one who means to take a
stroll and enjoy a smoke, rather as a man on a mission.

A few minutes after, the desultory conversation in the hall was arrested
by the sound of voices near the windows.

They were in full view now--Vida Levering, hatless, a cool figure in
pearl-grey with a red umbrella; St. John Greatorex, wearing a Panama
hat, talking and gesticulating with a small book, in which his fingers
still kept the place; Farnborough, a little supercilious, looking on.

'I protest! Good Lord! what are the women of this country coming to? I
_protest_ against Miss Levering being carried indoors to discuss
anything so revolting.'

As Lord John moved towards the window the vermilion disk of the umbrella
closed and dropped like a poppy before it blooms. As the owner of it
entered the hall, Greatorex followed in her wake, calling out--

'Bless my soul! what can a woman like you _know_ about such a thing?'

'Little enough,' said Miss Levering, smiling and scattering
good-mornings.

'I should think so indeed!' He breathed a sigh of relief and recovered
his waggishness. 'It's all this fellow Farnborough's wicked
jealousy--routing us out of the summer-house where we were sitting,
_perfectly_ happy--weren't we?'

'Ideally,' said