"It is pleasant to hear your voice again." She gave him a quick merry glance. "Do you mind my saying that?" "Yes, I hate compliments." "I'm sorry." She was chaffing him, but she did it with a subtle little touch of deference, quite unlike anything in her manner towards either her husband or her new toy, Cousin Arthur. In this again she was, while pretty, natural. Oliver Wyse was a dozen years her senior, and a distinguished man. He had a career behind him in the Colonial Service, a career of note, and was supposed to have another still in front of him in the directorate of a great business with world-wide interests. To take up this new work--very congenial and promising much wealth, which had not hitherto come his way--he had bade farewell to employment under Government. Some said his resignation had been hailed with relief since he did not count among his many virtues that of being a very docile subordinate. His representations were apt to be more energetic, his interpretation of orders less literal, than official superiors at the other end of the cable desired. So with many compliments and a Knight Commandership of the appropriate Order he was gracefully suffered to depart. "But a jolly little lunch like this is worth a lot of meetings at squashes and so on, isn't it? By the way, you didn't come to mine the other day, Sir Oliver." (She referred to the party which Mr. Arthur Lisle had attended.) "I don't like squashes." "Compliments and squashes! Anything else? I want to know what to avoid, please." She rested her chin on her hand and looked at him with an air of wondering how far she could safely go in her banter. "I'm not sure I like handsome young cousins very much." "I haven't any more--at least I'm afraid not! Even Arthur was quite a surprise. I believe I should never have known of him but for Esther Norton Ward." "Meddling woman! For a fortnight after his appearance I was obviously _de trop_." "I was afraid he'd run away again; he's very timid. I had to tie him tight at first." "Suppose I had run away? You don't seem to have thought of that." Her changeful lips pouted a little. "I might run after you, I shouldn't after Arthur--and then I could bring you back. At least, could I, Sir Oliver? Oh, dear, I've very nearly paid you another compliment!" "I didn't mind that one so much. It was more subtle." "I don't believe you mind them a bit, so long as they're--well, ingenious enough. You've been spoilt by Begums, or Ranees, or whatever they're called, I expect." "That's true. You must find me very hard to please, of course." "Well, there's a--a considering look in your eyes sometimes that I don't quite like," said Bernadette. She laughed, sipped her wine, and turned to her cutlet with good appetite.