s.

"If I lived here I would plant a new orchard," she said tremulously.
"I think Guinevere would like it, and you say she is buried with her
king in St. Joseph's Chapel."

Medenham had suddenly grown stern again. He glanced at her, and then
made great business with brakes and levers, for Mrs. Devar was still
inquisitive.

"There is a fine old Pilgrims' Inn, the George, in the main street,"
he said jerkily. "I propose to stop there; the entrance to the Abbey
is exactly opposite. In the George they will show you a room in which
Henry the Eighth slept, and I would recommend you to get a guide for
half an hour at least."

"Must we walk?" demanded Mrs. Devar plaintively.

"Yes, if you wish to see anything. But one could throw a stone over
the chief show places, they are so close together."

So Cynthia was shown the Alfred Jewel, and Celtic dice-boxes
carefully loaded for the despoiling of Roman legionaries or an
unwary Phoenician, and heard the story of the Holy Grail from the
lips of an ancient who lent credence to the legend by his venerable
appearance. Mixed up with the imposing ruins and the glory of St.
Joseph's Chapel was a visit to the butcher's at the corner of the
street, where the veteran proudly exhibited a duck with four feet. He
then called Cynthia's attention to the carved panels of the George
Hotel, and pointed out a fine window, bayed on each successive story.
She had almost forgotten the wretched duck when he mentioned a
two-headed calf which was on view at a neighboring dairy.

Mrs. Devar showed signs of interest, so Cynthia tipped the old man
hurriedly, and ran to the car.

"I shall come here--some other time," she gasped, and it thrilled her
to believe that Fitzroy understood, though he had heard no word of
quadruped fowl or bicipital monster.

At Wells Medenham pitied her. He bribed a policeman to guard the
Mercury, and when Mrs. Devar saw that more walking was expected of her
she elected to sit in the tonneau and admire the west front of the
cathedral.

"Lady Porthcawl tells me it is a masterpiece," she chirped shrilly,
"so I want to take it in at my leisure."

Once more, therefore, did Medenham allow himself a half hour of
real abandonment. He warned Cynthia that she must not endeavor to
appreciate the architecture; with the hauteur of conscious genius,
Wells refuses to allow anyone to absorb its true grandeur until it
has been seen many times and in all lights.

So he hied her to the