"I like that. You women pass your whole lives delighting your souls with fine raiment, and then you have the cool impudence to rebuke us for indulgence."

"Personally, I regard feminine adornment not only as justifiable, but as a public duty," remarked Judge. "One can hardly say as much for the private pleasures of me."

Roger chuckled. "If you carry on in that strain you'll make yourself popular. Look at the girls, drinking it all in with open mouths."

"Mr. Judge is a knight," said Isbel coldly. "You are only a jester, Roger."

"But is it good to be a knight, fair lady?"

"So it seems to my poor intelligence."

"'Tis a most dangerous profession. Your knight is a flatterer. But your flatterer may well end by becoming regarded as personal property. I shall remain a jester, I think."

They started off, by Judge's direction, along the terrace which skirted the front of the house. Blanche and Roger went on ahead, bearing the larger hamper between them, while Isbel and Judge fell behind, the latter carrying the small basket.

Isbel looked pensive. After a minute she said: "That last remark of Roger's was as bitter as it was untrue. It makes out that we women are incapable of discriminating between personal and impersonal flattery. It isn't words that we go by; it's the man himself-his character."

"I imagine so. But, still, pleasant words lead to friendship."

"Sometimes, perhaps. The best kind of friendships more than empty compliments."

"And what do you understand by the best kind of friendship-between persons of opposite sex?"

She coloured faintly. "It is one of those things which are more easily known to oneself than defined."

"For a friendship like that requires great tact, and tact is not of the brain. It is very delicate instinct."

"Yes. And that's why I am so glad to have you for a friend Mr. Judge-for I feel certain that you possess this…tact, in the highest degree…However, it would make no difference. We shall soon see no more of each other?"

"Can't we arrange to the contrary?"

"How? We shall be leaving this part of the country almost directly, and you know we don't know the same people. It's extremely unlikely we shall ever meet again."

"In plain language, Miss Loment-pardon me, I must speak openly-my house is the price of the continuance of your friendship? That is what you mean?"

"The statement is yours, not mine. I don't presume to flatter myself that my humble acquaintance is worth more to you than your house. I should indeed be an egotist."

"You mustn't say that, Miss Loment. My interests are very complicated; it isn't at all so simple as that. Please say no more at present…Of one thing you can be quite assure-I certainly do not wish to lose your friendship, and if it can in any way be arranged…"

"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Isbel…"Let me relieve you with that basket."

They had reached the east end of the house. Blanche and Roger were standing waiting at the angle, ignorant which way to proceed; they had set down the hamper.

"Which way now?" demanded Blanche.

"We'll change over," said Isbel. "The men can take the big basket and we'll bring up the rear. I'll have the other basket, Blanche, and you can carry the rug."

Roger, with a groan, prepared to stoop again. "Don't say it's far!"

"About two hundred yards," replied Judge. "The spot I have in mind is at the bottom of that field you see there."

Isbel was staring up at the house; she pointed a finger towards a gable. "Isn't that the window of the East Room, Mr. Judge?"

"It is; but what makes you ask?"

As she was about to reply, Blanche suddenly broke in:

"I didn't know the house had four storeys. You said only three, Billy."

"There are only three."

"Four, darling!"

"No three. Count again." The men confirmed her statement. Blanche did count again, and now made it only three. She confessed her blunder, laughed and promptly allowed the incident to pass from her mind. Isbel stole a glance at Judge, who was thoughtfully stroking his chin, while gazing at the house.

Nothing more was said till they commenced the descent of the steeply sloping lawn, the lower end of which adjoined the field. Judge and Roger went ahead.

"Did you really think you say four storeys?" asked Isbel with assumed carelessness.

"Yes, I did. Why?"

"Oh, nothing."

"What makes you so keen on that house, Billy? I know it isn't only on your aunt's account."

Isbel laughed. "You're developing into a very suspicious person. What other motive could I possibly have? Considering the short time I should have to live there, it isn't worth my while to get excited on my own account. It's a quaint old place, I admit."

"Have you got round Mr. Judge yet?"

"Not yet."

"Don't make poor old Marshall too jealous, that's all."

"Really, you say the most weird things. What do you imagine I'm doing? You might give me credit for a small modicum of self-respect."

"All right, but men are strange animals. The flash-point is very low in some of them. Don't forget that."

They reached the bottom of the lawn, and then had to cross a low stile into the field. The descent continued, but not so sharply. The field lay fallow; a fringe of elms bounded it on three sides, while on the fourth was a wood, towards which they made their way. The sun blazed, and the flies were troublesome. Roger looked back, to point out to the girls some swallows which had not yet departed.

"Why should you think he's that sort of man?" demanded Isbel.

"Oh, my dear, I've caught him looking rather strangely at you once or twice. Men are men and you can't make anything else of them. He knows you're engaged, of course?"

"My dear Blanche!…"

"Well, I won't say anything more. You know best. Only, do be very, very careful."

Isbel maintained an indignant silence until they neared the lower end of the field. The men, who had increased their distance, kept glancing over their shoulder by way of protest against the girls' leisurely pace.

"Surely, I'm not asking very much of him, Blanche? If he doesn't want to live in the house himself, he might just as well let us have it. Aunt will pay him his full price."

"No doubt he's an excellent business man," said Blanche enigmatically.

They rejoined the others at the spot selected for lunch.

The rug was spread on the grass, and the hampers were unpacked. While Roger busied himself with carving the pheasants and uncorking the hock, the girls neatly set out rolls, pastries, fruit, etc., and Judge made himself generally useful. They lunched in full sunlight in the field, by the side of a rather romantic little stream. This brook separated them from the steeply-ascending wood beyond, and-only an inch or so in depth-was so beautifully transparent, and flowed over its clean bed of pebbles with so musical a gurgle, that Isbel's spirits imperceptibly became tranquillised. They were in the trough of the two hillsides, and the house was out of sight.

"This licks friend Omar, I fancy," said Roger, vigorously attacking his half-bird. "For one flask of rotten syrup we have three bottles of the genuine stuff, for a loaf of bread we have game, and for 'thou' we have two. Can't you compose a verse for the occasion, Judge?"

"I strongly protest against figuring in as a 'thou'" said Isbel, coolly. "Those times are past for ever. Henceforward men are going to exist for us, not we for them."

"Capital! You have my fullest consent. I haven't the faintest shadow of an objection to assisting to change a pretty woman's wilderness into a paradise. Choose forthright between Judge and me."

"This is the grave historian, Mr. Judge, who spends his days in the dusty old reading-room at the British Museum."

"All the more justification for letting it go now, my dear," returned Roger. "After long enforced spells of hobnobbing with kings, heroes, and politicians, nature cries out for a little human intercourse with simple Jane and pleasant Muriel."