the war and had earned a reputation as a merchant of speed she looked,
as she was given to look on these occasions, a shade sorry for herself.

Also, because she had an admiration for Anthony that was little removed
from adoration she did not attend greatly to the business in hand, but
instead engaged in a critical survey of the girl he was to marry. She
decided that Isabel was very pretty but a shade too serious. She
wondered if her nerves were any good. She wished she had been allowed
to fetch her in the motor as there were one or two sharp corners on the
way home which, taken fast, provided a good test of a passenger's
courage. Perhaps it was as well that permission had been denied, she
reflected, since had Isabel screamed or turned even the least bit pink
she, Flora, would certainly have hit her with a spanner.

In extenuation for these violent emotions please remember that Flora,
in company with Jane, had been instrumental in saving Anthony
Barraclough's life when they found him lying on the roadside bleeding
like a stuck pig during the great retreat of 1918. After all, a girl
is justified in feeling strongly about a man's choice of a wife when he
owes his life to her. She is more or less responsible.

Isabel said nothing for perhaps a quarter of a mile, then suddenly
exclaimed:

"I say, this is beastly slow."

She could not have made a happier remark. Flora relaxed instantly.

"Isn't it chronic," she returned, "but the old lady was firm about it.
If I'd had the car we'd have whooped it up a bit."

"Wish we had. Can't stick this jogging--want to get out and run."

"Fond of speed?" said Flora.

"Um, rather. That beastly old train--then this. I'd half a notion to
fly down only I didn't know any landings round here."

"You've flown then?"

"Yes, lots."

"Who with?"

"By myself a fair amount."

"Got a pilot certificate?"

"Yes, ages ago."

"I say!" said Flora and began to feel quite hopeful about Anthony's
future. "Agnes was in the Flying Corps, you know."

"Agnes?"

"She's housemaid. 'Course she's been up dozens of times but she never
handled the joystick. Ever looped?"

"Often."

"You must talk to Agnes," said Flora.

There was a bell under the pony's chin strap and it jingled
continually. From her chair by the open French window Mrs. Barraclough
could hear the jingle as the cart turned into the lane. Herein lay the
essence of using the cart for particular friends, for Mrs.