t, it's only there when I am. You go by
train, and after that you have to walk. I don't know the way. It
comes by inspiration. When you get to the top you can see the whole of
England, and there are always flowers. I'm taking Howard's gang, and
you people must come along too. It's what you want. A good time----"

"_All_ the time," said Miss Edwards, blowing away the crumbs.

"My people are going in a char-a-banc to Brighton," Rufus said. "But
I'll give them the slip. There's sure to be a beastly row anyhow."

"That's my brave boy! Who cares for rows? Take me. Our Mr. Reilly's
had the nerve to fix up a rehearsal for the new French dame what's
coming to ginger up our show--and, oh, believe me, it needs it--but am
I down-hearted? No! Anyway, if she's half the stuff they say she is
they'll never notice poor little Connie's gone to bury her fifth
grandmother. So I'll be with you, lady, and kind regards and many
thanks."

"And you, too. Miss Forsyth?"

Christine shook her head. She was frowning up out of the open window a
little anxiously.

"What would you do with a tired old woman?"

"Ruffles will carry you. Throw out your chest, Ruffles, and look
fierce. What's the use of a hefty brute like that if it isn't useful?"

"And when you're on my hill," Francey said with a mysterious nod,
"you'll understand it better than any of us." She looked away from the
grey, upturned face. She added almost to herself: "How dark it is
here! The sun has gone down behind the roof."

"Has it? Yes, it went so suddenly. I wondered"--she picked up her
knitting, and began to roll it together--"if Robert could go?" she
murmured.

"Robert can go. I knew before I asked."

But he flung round on her in a burst of extraordinary resentment.

"I can't. You seem to think I can do anything and everything that
comes into your head. People like you never really understand. We're
poor. We haven't the money or the time to--to fool round. Nor has
Cosgrave, but he likes to pretend--humbug himself and anyone else silly
enough to believe in him."

It was as though something long smouldering amongst them had blazed up.
Cosgrave banged the table with his clenched fist. His freckles were
like small suns shining out of his dead-white face.

"You--you leave me alone, Stonehouse. I--I'm n-not a kid any more.
And I d-don't pretend. Connie knows I haven't a c-cent in the world
except what poor mother sneaks out of the housek