She sent him home and invited herself that weekend to a house in which she would find Dolly: the Kahns’--but no matter. Dolly was there. When the Prime Minister saw that dear figure of hers with its promise of importunities he groaned in spirit. She brought him up to the sticking point during a long walk on Sunday afternoon, and he promised her that at least he would sound. “But I don’t know, Mary,” he said, half trying to retreat, “Repton’s not a man to speak unless he chooses, and he’s like a stone wall against one unless he also chooses to hear.” “Take him walking as I’m taking you,” said Mary. It was Sunday, the 31st of May. The weather had begun to be large and open and warm. He thought there was something in what she said. “Meet him as he comes out of his house to-morrow. Do you know when he comes out?” “Yes,” said the Prime Minister a little shamefacedly, “I do. It’s always half-past nine.” “Well,” said Mary, “I really don’t see what your trouble is.” “It’s an absurd hour to catch a man, half-past nine--and I should have to get up God knows when--besides to-morrow’s a bad day,” said the Premier, pressing his lips together when he had spoken. “It’s a bad moment. It’s a big week for him. He’s got a dinner on that’s something to do with his dam companies to-morrow evening. I know that. And then Tuesday he’s got that big Van Diemens meeting in the City. And before the end of the week, I know he’s talking at the big Wycliffite Conference--I can’t remember the day though. Pottle told me about it.” They had turned to go home, and Mary Smith for the first hundred yards or so was honestly wondering in her mind why men found so difficult what women find so easy. “I’ve told you what to do,” she said. “Catch him by accident outside his house as he leaves after breakfast, then he’ll walk with you. Say you’re walking. Anything can be said when one’s walking.” “Are you sure he’ll come with me?” asked the Prime Minister. “Positive!” said Mary Smith in a very quiet tone. The air was serene above them, and one lark had found his way so high that they could hardly hear him singing. The Prime Minister wished from the bottom of his heart that he could live in that field for a week. He rose to one despairing rally: “Mary,” he said, “suppose it rains?” “Oh Dolly, Dolly, Dolly!” she answered, stopping short and standing in front of him. “It’s for all the world as though you were just back from school for the last time, and I was a little girl who had been sent for on the grand occasion to tea.” She put both hands on his awkward shoulders to stop him, and she kissed him anywhere upon the face. “It won’t rain, Dolly,” she said, “I’ve seen to that.” CHAPTER VII Charles Repton had taken no weekends. Charles Repton had sat tight in London.