“Think,” she said. “Think of sitting in your own library, with servants falling over one another to answer the bell when you rang, and hunters in the stables and four cars, and Royalty coming to stay with you, and money to burn, and ‘The Wife of Willoughby Bagot, Esquire’ the picture of the year, and Chancery smiling in its sleep because a Gray Bagot was up in the saddle again.” “‘And hatred therewith,’” said Willoughby, producing a pipe. “Nothing doing, you witch. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m much too foolish. Quite idiotic, in fact. It’s hereditary. After all, I’ve much to be thankful for. At the moment, I’m thankful for your dimple. I suppose it always comes when you’re trying not to laugh.” Spring covered her face and shook with merriment. Presently she sat up soberly. “We don’t do so badly, we servants, do we?” she said. “I guess our respective employers aren’t laughing like that. I suppose you won’t let me wash up?” “Certainly not,” said Bagot. “That’s William’s affair.” “Yes, but as often as not he does it with cold water. He told me so just now. And that’s all wrong, you know.” “I can’t help that,” said Bagot, lighting her cigarette. “I like my guests to do as they feel inclined, but there’s a limit to my hospitality. And now shall we go outside and sit on the grass? I want to see you against a background of box.” It was a brilliant afternoon, and the shadow of the lodge turned the recess between the grey and green walls into a little arbour, the mouth of which gave on to Chancery, slumbering warm in the sunshine, a quarter of a mile away. What traffic used the road, pounded or whirred about its business behind the close box-screen, alike blind and invisible, but lending the little bay an air of privileged privacy like that of a family pew. “My summer parlour,” said Bagot, ushering his guest. “Hereafter the Servants’ Hall,” said Spring, taking her seat upon the turf. “Well, now I’m here, how do I look against the box?” “You kill the poor thing,” said Bagot. “Your eyes are too bright. Never mind. I’ll have it watered before you come next time.” “I can’t come unasked again. I mean, there’s a limit to hospitality, isn’t there?” “You wicked girl,” said Willoughby. “You——” “Why did you want to see me against the box?” “Because good pictures should be put into good frames. I didn’t choose the paper on my sitting-room walls, you know, but I never noticed how very distressing it was until this afternoon.” Spring looked up, smiling. “Keep something for the heiress,” she said. A car slid out of the distance, crept past the gates and stopped by the side of the hedge, three paces away. “We’re not far off,” said a man’s voice. “I know this property here, but these corkscrew lanes of yours have tied me up. I can’t remember which side the village lies. Maybe there’s a porter here. . . .” A door was opened and someone descended into the road. Before he could reach the gate, Bagot was out of his garden and in the drive.