It was a lazy Sunday morning--the fourth in the month of May. John Forest had been gone a month, and Lady Touchstone was properly at church. Greenwich would have told you that it was ten o'clock, and the gorgeous tapestry of Summer was still wrought with the brilliant embroidery of a heavy dew. Lawns, flower-borders, and stiff box charactery sparkled and shone in the hot sunshine. The sky was cloudless: a haze kept to itself the distant promise of the park: there was no wind. The sleepy hum of insects, a rare contented melody, tilted the hat of Silence over that watchman's eyes. The wandering scent of hawthorns offered the faultless day a precious button-hole. Sitting easily among the cushions of a teak-wood chair, Anthony let his eyes ramble luxuriously over the prospect. In a _chaise longue_ by his side Valerie was engaged in the desultory composition of a letter to her uncle in Rome. Stretched blinking upon the warm flags, Patch watched the two vigilantly for any sign of movement. "Did I ever have a red-haired nurse?" said Anthony suddenly. Valerie shook her head. "No," she said. "You had the same two all the time. Why?" "I dreamed of a red-haired girl." Valerie sat very still. "André, her name was. I met her first in the road... I remember she knew me. She'd been hunting and looked like a Bacchanal. She turned up again later on--one night. I was just going to bed." He frowned at the recollection. "I wonder I didn't chatter about that. I was worried to blazes...." "That--that's the worst of dreams," said Valerie slowly. "You're impotent." With a shock she realized that she had written ANDRÉ in capitals in the middle of her letter, and, below it again, BACCHANAL. Casually she scratched out the words till her pen ploughed up the sodden paper. "It's a wretched feeling," said Anthony. "I dreamt she--cared for me. And I--I never got there. She had to tell me right out.... Oh, Valerie, it was awful." Miss French felt as though her heart had stopped beating. She could have screamed to Anthony to go on. Instead-- "Poor old chap," she said gently. She had her reward. "When she saw there was nothing doing, she went.... And then Winchester appeared with Patch, as I was putting her into her car. I remember he called her 'André'--that's how I knew her name.... And then he cursed me, because she was his _fiancée_, and she fairly tore him up. Then she chucked down his ring and drove off. There must have been a car leaving Bell Hammer just then. I can hear her changing the gears now." He passed a hand over his eyes. "I can't remember any more, except that Winchester was shouting...." For a long moment the two sat very still. Then Valerie scrambled to her feet and put her head on one side. Her eyes were just dancing. "You and your red-haired sirens," she said reproachfully. "And now come along, and I'll pick you a buttonhole."