as queer as Dick's
hatband, and fight like man and wife. I had to separate them, and Mrs.
Godfrey helped me till they retired under the rhododendrons and had it
out in silence.

'D'you know what that girl's father was?' Mrs. Godfrey asked.

'No,' I replied. 'I loathe her for her own sake. She breathes through
her mouth.'

'He was a retired doctor,' she explained. 'He used to pick up stormy
young men in the repentant stage, take them home, and patch them up till
they were sound enough to be insured. Then he insured them heavily, and
let them out into the world again--with an appetite. Of course, no one
knew him while he was alive, but he left pots of money to his daughter.'

'Strictly legitimate--highly respectable,' I said. 'But what a life for
the daughter!'

'Mustn't it have been! _Now_ d'you realise what you said just now?'

'Perfectly; and now you've made me quite happy, shall we go back to the
house?'

When we reached it they were all inside, sitting in committee on names.

'What shall you call yours?' I heard Milly ask Miss Sichliffe.

'Harvey,' she replied--'Harvey's Sauce, you know. He's going to be quite
saucy when I've'--she saw Mrs. Godfrey and me coming through the French
window--'when he's stronger.'

Attley, the well-meaning man, to make me feel at ease, asked what I
thought of the name.

'Oh, splendid,' I said at random. 'H with an A, A with an R, R with a--'

'But that's Little Bingo,' some one said, and they all laughed.

Miss Sichliffe, her hands joined across her long knees, drawled, 'You
ought always to verify your quotations.'

It was not a kindly thrust, but something in the word 'quotation' set
the automatic side of my brain at work on some shadow of a word or
phrase that kept itself out of memory's reach as a cat sits just beyond
a dog's jump. When I was going home, Miss Sichliffe came up to me in the
twilight, the pup on a leash, swinging her big shoes at the end of her
tennis-racket.

''Sorry,' she said in her thick schoolboy-like voice. 'I'm sorry for
what I said to you about verifying quotations. I didn't know you well
enough and--anyhow, I oughtn't to have.'

'But you were quite right about Little Bingo,' I answered. 'The spelling
ought to have reminded me.'

'Yes, of course. It's the spelling,' she said, and slouched off with the
pup sliding after her. Once again my brain began to worry after
something that would have meant something if it had been properly
spelled. I