in the country
looked a little coldly on him on the grounds that, being a writer, he
must be Bohemian. At last the local doctor's wife and clergyman's wife
called on him, and finding him perfectly respectable, stayed for many
hours. They were particularly tedious and rather self-righteous. When
they had gone, he said thoughtfully to some one who was pitying him for
being bored, 'One of those poor wantons has a certain cadaverous
grace.'"

The story was well received, except by Van Buren, who seemed painfully
shocked.

Daphne, who had gone into the house to fetch some snapshots, now came
running back saying--

"Val, Val! The Campbells are arriving in a fly, and they seem to have
brought their foreigner with them--that man Miss Campbell told me about.
He's a kind of Belgian, and awfully clever--he's invented something."

"What's he invented?"

"Brussels sprouts?" suggested Harry rather sleepily.

"But they've been invented already."

"Why shouldn't he invent them over again? Give him a chance."

Muir began to sing softly, "Young Lochinvar has come out of the West,"
which he appeared to think a suitable serenade, but he stopped suddenly
at Gillie's entreaty.

"I don't mind anything Muir does, as long as he doesn't sing," he always
explained.

"It's awful hard lines. I've got a ripping baritone voice, but I never
have a chance to use it," murmured Muir.

"You shall sing to me this afternoon. I'll accompany you," whispered
Daphne.

Muir had gratefully answered that it was frightfully decent of her, when
the servant announced--

"Mrs. and Miss Campbell. Mr.----" He left a blank, unable to pronounce
the name.

But Mrs. Campbell introduced Mynheer von Stoendyck.

* * * * *

Mrs. Campbell was an amiable, colourless woman, with a greyish brown
fringe that looked as if it were made of Berlin wool. Though she was not
yet forty-five, she wore a bonnet with violet velvet strings, and had a
very long waist. Also, her skirt, in reality quite normal, looked, to
the eye used to contemporary fashion, grotesquely wide at the end.

Her daughter was an ordinary Rectory girl, spoilt by a dash of culture.
At a glance all present saw she was in love with Mr. Stoendyck. He was a
well-set-up man of about thirty-five, with a military manner and
scientific eye-glasses, also a turned-up light moustache. He spoke all
languages with one rasping accent, but Mrs. Campbell seemed to suffer
under the delusio