The interview with Linker dragged itself to an end at last and the man bowed himself out of the room. Sir Evelyn took the two girls out to his rock garden and enjoyed himself. He had long been cut off from the society of cheerful and pretty young women who wanted to be agreeable to him and were clever enough to show an interest, which no one under fifty can really feel, in the names and nature of unattractive plants. Sir Evelyn, though old enough to enjoy rock plants, was not too old to enjoy pretty girls. A happy position and rare, for as a rule rock plants only become interesting after pretty girls have ceased to attract.

Jimmy settled down for an hour's serious work in the butler's pantry where the Manor House telephone was kept. He began with the proprietor of the garage in Morriton St. James, went into all the symptoms of the Pallas Athene's breakdown, found that a diagnosis had been made and that a major operation would be required. There was little hope of the car running again for a week. After that he tried a trunk call to the office of the makers of the car. This was a difficult thing to procure but he did it in the end and had the satisfaction of telling a gentleman, described to him as "the boss" exactly what sort of car the Pallas Athene was. "The boss" retaliated by describing in vivid terms the kind of man who was fool enough to drive a perfectly new car, which had never been run in, at the rate of sixty miles an hour for several hundred miles.

He had no direct evidence that the Pallas Athene had been driven in this way, but he knew something of Jimmy's reputation as a motorist, and he felt quite safe in making the accusation.

It is creditable to Jimmy that he kept his temper during both conversations. The garage proprietor kept his and the "boss" only pretended to be angry as a means of self-defence against any claim which might be made on him under the terms of his guarantee. Considering how trying motor cars can be when they choose to behave badly this general self-restraint goes far to show that we are really becoming a civilised people, a thing which observers of our habit of going on strike might be inclined to doubt.

When Sir Evelyn and the two girls returned from the rock garden Jimmy told them the news that there was no chance of getting away in the Pallas Athene. He spoke indecisively about trains and still more doubtfully about hiring another car. Sir Evelyn cut him short with a hospitable invitation to the whole party to stay with him for a week or a fortnight, until the Pallas Athene was repaired, or perhaps until the Hailey Compton pageant was over.

Beth murmured a polite refusal which it was quite clear she did not really mean. Pressed by Sir Evelyn she confessed that gossip about London society can be invented anywhere and that the Lispings of Lilith could be just as well written in the Manor House at Morriton St. James as in the flat in Battersea. She also said something about an opportunity for visiting her aunt at Hailey Compton. Sir Evelyn cut her short.

"You will be doing me a favour," he said, "by staying on till the pageant is over. I want someone to help me through with that affair."

Mary Lambert was franker. She had no work to do in London. There was a possibility of her getting a job, in connection with the pageant, which, even if unpaid would bring her name before the public. She was also, though she only hinted at this, much more comfortable in the Manor House than she had ever been anywhere in her life before, and—this consideration weighs a little with all of us—it is very convenient to be housed and fed free, especially when earning no salary. A few clothes—she and Beth said this simultaneously—could be sent for from London.

Jimmy had no hesitation about accepting the invitation. He, perhaps he alone, took his uncle's polite assurance at its face value.

"You do want someone to look after you, Uncle Evie," he said, "and that's a fact. I'm not saying anything against Hinton or Linker, not a word. Both excellent fellows, no doubt. But they give me the impression of being pretty sharp men of business. When I think of that tenner of mine which Hinton trousered yesterday afternoon, and of what Linker's little bill will probably be I tremble to think of the extent to which the two of them will probably stick you."

Sir Evelyn smiled amiably at the suggestion that he needed a protector and made a mild joke about his nephew's fitness for the part of tutor to innocent old age.

"Besides," Jimmy went on, "I'm getting quite keen on this pageant of yours and rather see myself in the part of captain of the lugger."

When it was settled that the whole party would remain at the Manor House Jimmy suggested a drive over to Hailey Compton as a suitable amusement for the day. Like most men over fifty Sir Evelyn dreaded picnics and suggested that they should lunch comfortably at home before starting. He was strongly opposed to Beth's suggestion that they should ask Mrs. Eames for luncheon. But neither Beth nor Mary wanted to spend the rest of the morning in the rock garden, and a compromise was arranged. The party would take its own food, but eat it, along with anything Mrs. Eames provided, in the vicarage. This, like most compromises, combined the most objectionable features of both plans. The food would be picnic food, cold, sandwichy and scrappy, which was exactly what Sir Evelyn disliked. The company would be that of Mrs. Eames, which he dreaded.

An hour and a half later Sir Evelyn's little car, this time driven in masterful fashion by Jimmy, reached the long stretch of bare, undulating land above Hailey Compton. The road, a narrow white belt, stretched straight until it seemed to end abruptly on the very edge of the cliff. The car sped on faster than that car had ever gone before. Jimmy eyed the road in front of him suspiciously.

"Is there a way down," he said, "or do we stop here and take to parachutes?"

"It's very steep," said Sir Evelyn. "Do be careful."

"Brakes all right?" said Jimmy without slowing down.

"I hope so. I trust so," said his uncle.

Jimmy, though daring, was not reckless. With rapid motion of hand and foot he changed gear. The car sped forward with a shrill cry. Jimmy changed gear again, and took the first of the sharp bends at a little over twenty-five miles an hour. His passengers clung tightly to the sides of the car. The brakes stuttered. The low gear cried more shrilly. Another corner was safely passed.

"Nasty place on a foggy night," said Jimmy, "if you happened to be trying it for the first time."

He went boldly on, for it was neither night nor foggy. The sun glittered on a calm sea far below them. The steep, thatched roofs of the fishermen's cottages were seen, as roofs seldom are except by those who go about in aeroplanes. The little boat haven, in reality a slimy pool, looked like a glowing gem. The vicarage, somewhat apart from the village, was modestly picturesque like a shy girl in light summer clothes. The church, its squat, grey tower bathed in sunlight, stood on guard above the village, perched on the little plateau, the sea and the cliffs below it, a tall, rugged cliff rising high behind and above it.

"Isn't it perfectly lovely?" said Mary, who had never seen Hailey Compton before.

She had got over her first fear of the steepness of the descent. Sir Evelyn, sitting beside her in the back of the car, was still too nervous to join in admiration of the scenery.

"I do wish he'd be more cautious," was all he could say.

Jimmy, guided by Beth, swept along the village street, charged the short hill to the vicarage gate and pulled up before the door.

Mrs. Eames rushed out to welcome them. She kissed Beth vehemently, grasped Sir Evelyn's hand and shook it with affectionate violence, was introduced to Mary, and kissed her, was introduced to Jimmy and looked for a moment as if she meant to kiss him.

"You'll lunch with us, of course," she said. "I'm so sorry Timothy isn't here, Sir Evelyn, and he won't be back for lunch I'm afraid, unless I send for him. But I will send for him. Gladys shall go. He's up in the church."

"Still?" said Sir Evelyn.

He was a little surprised. Mr. Eames had retired to the church three weeks before. It seemed scarcely possible that he had been there ever since.

"Your poor dear uncle," said Mrs. Eames to Beth, "is more tiresome than I've ever known him before. Not that I want to say a word against him. He's a darling, but it is tiresome of him to spend all of every day in the church. I never see him except at night, and do you know what I found out yesterday? He's taken a spade and a pickaxe up there with him. At least, if he hasn't taken them I don't know what's happened to them. I can't find them. The man who does the garden wanted the spade yesterday, and while he was looking for it he found that the pickaxe was gone too. So annoying."

"Couldn't be digging graves, could he?" said Jimmy not very helpfully.

"Oh, no," said Mrs. Eames. "Poor Timothy never does anything as useful as that. You wouldn't think it of him if you knew him, Lord Colavon, and of course it may not be he who has taken the spade. I only said he had because I can't think of anyone else who would take it. But what would he want a pickaxe for inside the church? And he never comes out. He just sits there all day, reading Greek, you know."

Sir Evelyn, though he did not say so, was of opinion that the vicar must have gone mad. St. Paul, who also seems to have read Greek books, was suspected of having been driven insane through much learning. Something of the sort might have happened to Mr. Eames; but Sir Evelyn was more inclined to lay the blame on Mrs. Eames. He thought it likely that he would be mad too if he had been married to her.

"So you're really an actress," said Mrs. Eames, turning abruptly to Mary. "You did say she was a real actress, didn't you, Beth? Isn't that lucky? You must know all about pageants, if you're an actress, and you'll be able to help us. I do want someone to help. You'll come and stay with us till the pageant's over, won't you? You can have Beth's room. Or if Beth comes too, you can share it. You'll come, won't you, Beth?"

"Miss Lambert and Miss Appleby," said Sir Evelyn, "have kindly consented to stay with me till the play is over."

"Quite right," said Mrs. Eames cheerfully. "They'll be far more comfortable with you. I'd love to have them both. You know that, Beth. But—well, you know what Gladys is like."

"But of course I'll help," said Mary. "I'll come over every day."

"How splendid. We'll have a rehearsal this afternoon. Gladys shall run round the village and tell the people. She'll like doing that far better than cooking lunch. I'm afraid there isn't very much for lunch. You see, I haven't been having regular meals since poor dear Timothy took to living in the church. But we might have pancakes. You like pancakes, don't you, Sir Evelyn?"

"We shouldn't dream of trespassing on your kindness, Mrs. Eames," said Sir Evelyn. "We brought our own luncheon with us."

"So if you'll just lend us knives and forks, Aunt Agatha," said Beth.

Many women, slaves to conventionality, would have been vexed to think that guests, arriving at luncheon time, had brought their own food with them. Mrs. Eames was not even ruffled.

"But you must have pancakes too," she said, "and scrambled eggs. I'm rather good at scrambled eggs. And luckily the hens are all laying just now. Generally they do nothing but go broody at this time of year. It may have been excitement about the pageant which kept them from sitting. Not that they understand what's happening, poor things, but excitement gets into the air. So we can have pancakes and scrambled eggs. I know you like scrambled eggs, Sir Evelyn."

"Oh, greatly," said Sir Evelyn. "But I really wish you wouldn't take so much trouble."

"It won't be any trouble," said Mrs. Eames. "Gladys's aunt is nearly sure to be in the kitchen, and if so she can make the pancakes. Gladys can't or won't or both. I wish I could offer you an omelette. Beth, dear, can you make omelettes?"

"I can," said Mary Lambert. "At least I think I can. Do let me try."

"I used to think I could," said Mrs. Eames, "and sometimes I can, but not always. In fact generally my omelettes turn out to be scrambled eggs. That's why I think it's better to say scrambled eggs at once. Then if they do happen to be omelettes it's a pleasant surprise, whereas if I said omelettes and then produced scrambled eggs Timothy might be disappointed. Come along, Mary dear. You won't mind my calling you Mary, will you. It's so stiff to go on saying Miss Lambert when we're going to make an omelette together. You can get out the plates and lay the table, Beth. You'll find a table cloth somewhere. I'm sure Sir Evelyn would like a table cloth and I have several if only they're clean. The fact is, I never have a table cloth when Timothy isn't here. I know I ought to. So bad for Gladys when I don't."

She took Mary by the arm and led her off to the kitchen.

"I think," said Beth, "that I'd better go and look for the table cloth."

"Wait one moment," said Jimmy, "till I get the luncheon basket out of the car and then I'll be with you. I feel sure it'll take two of us to find that table cloth."

"Am I to be left alone?" said Sir Evelyn. "I don't like it. If Mrs. Eames comes back and finds me unprotected—— Perhaps the best thing for me to do would be to join the vicar in the church. Do you suppose he took the pickaxe as a weapon of defence? I feel as if I should like something of the sort."

"Your aunt," said Jimmy, a few minutes later, "is perfectly priceless."

They were searching in the dining-room for the table cloth and so far had not come on a trace of it.

"There's a lot of go about her," said Beth.

"Go! I should think there was. I only wish there was half as much in the Pallas Athene. I wonder now, if I asked her very nicely, would she come over to Morriton St. James some day and take a look at that car. If anyone could get a move on the wretched thing it would be your aunt. She'd make anything in the world hop up and run about."