imply because
I found myself thinking of you all the time. Genius is so susceptible
to diversions. This afternoon I couldn't settle down because I was
wondering all the time whether you were wearing blue linen or white
muslin. I just looked out of the window to see--you were asleep in the
hammock . . . you witch!" he murmured softly. "How could I keep sane
and collected! How could I write about anybody or anything in the world
except you! The wind was blowing those little strands of hair over your
face. Your left arm was hanging down--so; why is an arm such a graceful
thing, I wonder? Your left knee was drawn up--you had been supporting a
book against it and--"

"I don't want to hear another word," Edith protested quickly.

He sighed.

"It took me about thirty seconds to get down," he murmured. "You hadn't
moved."

"Shall we have tea out here or in the study?" Edith asked.

"Anywhere so long as we escape from this," Burton replied, gazing across
the lawn. "What is it?"

A man was making his way from the house towards them, a man who
certainly presented a somewhat singular appearance. He was wearing a
long linen duster, a motor-cap which came over his ears, and a pair of
goggles which he was busy removing. Edith swung herself on to her feet.
Considering her late laments, the dismay in her tone was a little
astonishing.

"It is Mr. Bomford!" she cried.

Burton sighed--with relief.

"I am glad to hear that it is human," he murmured. "I thought that it
was a Wells nightmare or that something from underground had been let
loose."

She shot an indignant glance at him. Her greeting of Mr. Bomford was
almost enough to turn his head. She held out both her hands.

"My dear Mr.--my dear Paul!" she exclaimed. "How glad I am to see you!
Have you motored down?"

"Obviously, my dear, obviously," the newcomer remarked, removing further
portions of his disguise and revealing a middle-aged man of medium
height and unimposing appearance, with slight sandy whiskers and
moustache. "A very hot and dusty ride too. Still, after your father's
message I did not hesitate for a second. Where is he, Edith? Have you
any idea what it is that he wants?"

She shook her head.

"Did he send for you?" she asked.

"Send for me!" Mr. Bomford repeated. "I should rather think he did."

He looked inquiringly towards Burton. Edith introduced them.

"This," she said, "is Mr. Burton, a friend of father's, who is staying
with us for a few d