When Harry came down to breakfast, a little late, he found Valentia waiting to pour out his coffee, and some letters on his plate. She watched him as he opened them. Most of them looked like bills. On the envelope of one was a little blue flag. Harry put this letter in his pocket, and went on eating.

"It's a lovely morning, Harry. So fresh; just the sort of day not to do anything at all."

"Ah! that's what's so delightful about you all," he answered. "You never say, 'What shall we do?' and neither of you have ever said yet that this is Liberty Hall, which means, as a rule, in a country house, 'Breakfast at eight o'clock sharp, you won't mind it being a little cold if you're late, and then we are going for a motor drive at 9.30.' Still, I think, perhaps, one ought to take a little exercise. I feel almost equal to a game of croquet this afternoon—later on—when I'm stronger. Is any one coming down to-day?"

"No. And only Van Buren, and Vaughan and Muir Howard on Sunday. I see you've heard from the Walmers. What do they say?"

"It's sure to be nothing of interest. How I love your hair parted on one side! It makes you look like a boy."

"Not a principal boy, I hope. Why not read the letter?"

Harry got up and fetched himself something from the sideboard.

"I don't feel quite strong enough yet. When I've had breakfast. I should like to paint you as you're looking now, Val. I think I'll do a sketch of you in the rose garden, all in black and white, like a Beardsley, with the balustrades and steps and things behind you. Will you sit to me?"

"That's all very well. But why don't you read your letter?"

"There's sure to be nothing in it."

"How can you tell till you've opened it?"

"I know. I always feel what's in a letter without opening it. Don't you? I absorb the essence, as it were, through the covers of the envelope, as somebody or other—Macaulay, I think—used to absorb all the important things through the covers of a book. Or wasn't it Macaulay? Anyhow, it doesn't matter. It was some tiresome person whom one oughtn't to talk about on a morning like this."

Harry evidently was not quite at his ease.

"But why not read it?" She spoke playfully.

"How persistent women are, just like children. To tease you I just shan't."

"Oh, Harry!"

"I shan't read it now at all," he went on. "I can answer it without reading it."

"It's only that I should like to know how the Walmers are enjoying themselves on Flying Fish. Lady Walmer was a little afraid they mightn't like it."

Here Romer came up to the window and called out—

"I say, Val, come here a minute. I want to ask you something."

"Here I am, dear," and she vanished into the garden.

The second she had gone Harry opened the letter very carefully, and read—

He put the letter back in the untorn envelope and carefully fastened it up again. He then placed it on the mantelpiece, and having finished his breakfast, lit a cigarette.

He looked thoughtful.

"Algie Thynne, indeed!" he said to himself. "How pathetic, trying to make me jealous! Well, it's a pretty letter, and what's more, it must be answered."

Val came back.

"Romer wants the lawn mown," she said. "He's perfectly mad on the subject of mowing the lawn. He seems to think it ought to be shaved every day. It's the only thing he knows about the country. Well, have you read your letter?"

"There it is," said Harry. "You can read it if you like." He watched her carefully as she took it from the mantelpiece.

"I don't want to read it," she said, holding it.

"Nor do I," said Harry.

"Harry, tell me honestly, wouldn't you really mind if I tore it into little bits and put it in the waste-paper basket—just as it is?"

"Not a straw," said Harry, shaking his head.She clapped her hands, tore it into tiny pieces, and threw it in the basket. Then she said, in a low voice of deep gratitude—

"Oh, Harry, you are sweet! Do forgive me."

"I don't see that there's anything to forgive," said Harry.

"Yes, there is; lots. I'm afraid I've been horrid. I'll never bother you about any thing again."

She was simply beaming.

"Good," answered Harry indifferently.

But as he followed her into the garden he looked rather perplexed. He felt that this sort of thing was not leading up very well to what he would have to tell her soon. However, why spoil a lovely day by thinking of it?

Like a schoolboy with his holiday task before him, he put it off as long as possible.

Though he didn't own it to himself, and was disdainfully amused at Alec's letter, still the thought of Algie Thynne, moonlight nights on the yacht, topping weather, and his own neglect, gave him some cause for alarm. Algie Thynne was criblÉ with debts, and probably keen on marrying for money. Contemptible young ass! Why didn't he work? Harry despised him.

At the earliest opportunity (which, by the way, did not arise until he had made an excuse to go into the village, where he wrote at the post office) the answer was sent.Even Harry found the beginning of the letter too difficult, so he always began (as Valentia might have said) without a beginning, which impressed Miss Walmer much more. Ever since he had reached the age of discretion, which, in his case, was at his majority, Harry had been thoroughly trained in the habit of writing letters that gratified the recipient enormously without compromising the writer in the slightest degree. The habitual dread of those bÊtes noires of Don Juan—the breach of promise case and the Divorce Court—had got him into the way of writing the sort of letter that he would have had no objection to hear read aloud in court. Perhaps that was why the sentences were always polished, and the meaning a little vague.

"There! that ought to keep her quiet for a month," he thought as he posted the letter, and with a sigh of relief turned back towards the Green Gate.