There was not much doubt about his feelings as he stood by Allegra in the stern, directing the movements of her bare active hands while she hauled in the net; not much doubt that he was as deep in love as a man well can be after a fortnight’s acquaintance. He did not make any secret of his bondage, but let his eyes tell all the world that this girl was for him “the world’s one woman.” The invitation from Mrs. Baynham was delivered by post next morning, as ceremonious a card as if the place were Mayfair, and the inviter and invitees had not met since last season. A copper-plate card, with name and address filled in by the lady’s pen, a detail which distinguished her modest invitation from the Glenaveril cards, of which there were a variety, for at homes, tennis, dinner, luncheon, to accept, and to decline. A fortnight’s notice marked the dignity of the occasion--the hour the orthodox quarter to eight. “We can’t refuse, Isola,” said Disney, when his wife handed him the card, “although my past experience assures me that the evening will be a trifle heavy. Why will people in small houses insist upon giving dinner-parties, instead of having their friends in instalments? When we go to dine with the Baynhams we go for love of them, not the people they bring together; and yet they insist upon seating twelve in a room that will just comfortably hold eight. It is all vanity and vexation of spirit.” “But Mrs. Baynham is so happy when she is giving a real dinner-party. I don’t think we can refuse, can we, Allegra?” asked Isola. “Mrs. Baynham is a darling, and I wouldn’t vex her for worlds,” replied her sister-in law. “And in a place like this one can’t pretend a prior engagement, unless it were in the moon.” The invitation was accepted forthwith, and when Captain Hulbert dropped in at teatime it was discovered that he, too, had been asked, and that he meant to accept, if his friends at the Angler’s Nest were to be there. * * * * * A thunderbolt fell upon the little village on the following Sunday. When the old men and women, creeping to church a little in advance of younger legs, came to the church-path, they found the gate locked against them, locked and barricaded with bars which looked as if they were meant to last till the final cataclysm. The poor old creatures looked up wonderingly at a newly-painted board, on which the more intelligent among them spelt out the following legend-- “This wood is the private property of J. Vansittart Crowther, Esq. Trespassers will be prosecuted.” Martin Disney and his wife and sister came up when a little crowd of men, women, and children, numbering about thirty, had assembled round the gate, all in their Sunday best. “What’s the meaning of this?” asked Disney.