enty years since he married her romantically out in the
Boer War; and faithful without any feeling of sacrifice or boredom--she
was so quick, so slyly always a little in front of his mood. Being first
cousins they had decided, rather needlessly, to have no children; and,
though a little sallower, she had kept her looks, her slimness, and the
colour of her dark hair. Val particularly admired the life of her own
she carried on, besides carrying on his, and riding better every year.
She kept up her music, she read an awful lot--novels, poetry, all sorts
of stuff. Out on their farm in Cape colony she had looked after all
the "nigger" babies and women in a miraculous manner. She was, in
fact, clever; yet made no fuss about it, and had no "side." Though not
remarkable for humility, Val had come to have the feeling that she was
his superior, and he did not grudge it--a great tribute. It might be
noted that he never looked at Holly without her knowing of it, but that
she looked at him sometimes unawares.

He had kissed her in the porch because he should not be doing so on the
platform, though she was going to the station with him, to drive the car
back. Tanned and wrinkled by Colonial weather and the wiles inseparable
from horses, and handicapped by the leg which, weakened in the Boer War,
had probably saved his life in the War just past, Val was still much
as he had been in the days of his courtship; his smile as wide and
charming, his eyelashes, if anything, thicker and darker, his eyes
screwed up under them, as bright a grey, his freckles rather deeper, his
hair a little grizzled at the sides. He gave the impression of one who
has lived actively with horses in a sunny climate.

Twisting the car sharp round at the gate, he said:

"When is young Jon coming?"

"To-day."

"Is there anything you want for him? I could bring it down on Saturday."

"No; but you might come by the same train as Fleur--one-forty."

Val gave the Ford full rein; he still drove like a man in a new country
on bad roads, who refuses to compromise, and expects heaven at every
hole.

"That's a young woman who knows her way about," he said. "I say, has it
struck you?"

"Yes," said Holly.

"Uncle Soames and your Dad--bit awkward, isn't it?"

"She won't know, and he won't know, and nothing must be said, of course.
It's only for five days, Val."

"Stable secret! Righto!" If Holly thought it safe, it was. Glancing
slyly round at him, she said: "Did