Robert in
deck-chairs were smoking too, contributing their quota to the
conversation. To complete the picture, Brown, the odd-job man, was
delving holes destined to receive the posts of a pergola. Mrs. Peters'
eye wandered from her work and dwelt frigidly on him.

"By the way, Charles," she said, "did you ever speak to Brown about that
young woman?"

"What young woman?" asked the vicar lazily. Mrs. Peters recounted the
incident.

"No, my dear," said the vicar. "You could not tell me her name: all you
had to go on was a voice, and I could hardly catechize him on that.
Besides, it may be a worthy attachment."

"Very possibly," agreed his wife, though her tone was skeptical. "I have
no objections to that. But while he is at work ..."

"Awful word!" said Tony, for the sake of saying something. "I wonder
what work is like--real continuous work, I mean."

"We can offer you plenty," said the vicar cheerfully. "The lawn wants
cutting. You could trim the hedge, too, and----"

"No thanks," said Tony with a shudder. "Any other time I'd be glad, but
just now I'm too busy."

"Of course, Mr. Wild, my husband was joking. But don't you think that an
idle life...? Would not work--literary work, for example--be a good
thing for a young man?"

"I'm too old to begin," said Tony wearily. "Now, a hearty young spark
like my friend Bangs----"

The spark flickered into a feeble flame of protest and died away.

"You're wrong, Mr. Wild," said the vicar, taking his pipe out. "Work is
the best thing. You'd realize it if you tried it. Of course, now you're
on a holiday----"

"_Am_ I?" said Tony. "I'm a kind of bear-leader to Bangs. I'm simply
full-up with work, looking after him--arranging schemes for his
comfort--keeping him out of mischief. Aren't I, Bangs?"

Robert smiled in a deprecating way. "You--you exaggerate a little.
But--but----"

Mrs. Peters disliked the cynical frivolity Tony imparted to the
conversation. "Would you mind telling us the nature of some of these
arduous duties?" she asked coldly.

"Oh, there's a gay lot," said Tony, reflecting. "I've had to order
lunch, for example: Bangs has no ideas. Then I organize walks ... and
deal the hands at piquet in the evenings ... and ... by jove, yes! I
promised to help him telephone to-day, if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not a bit," said the vicar, the sole possessor of a telephone in
Shereling. He rose and stretched himself. "Come along now."

But Robert remained in his cha