“Of course,” said Toby. “What I mean is I never dreamed——” “Why should you?” said his aunt. “Neither did I. But I don’t stammer about it. Tell me about Biarritz.” “Oh, it’s not much of a place,” said Toby cautiously. “And it’s awfully full. I spend most of my time getting away from it. I like the peace of——” “Are there public dances there?” Captain Rage appeared to consider. “I believe they do dance at the Casino,” he said. “Yes, I’m almost sure they do.” “Are you, indeed?” said his aunt. “It’s wonderful how these things get about, isn’t it?” Toby blenched. “Where is the English Church?” Painfully conscious that his reply would almost certainly be compared with that of Baedeker, Captain Rage swallowed. “Well,” he said, “when you get out of the hotel, instead of going down to the sea——” “_Toby darling._” The clear voice floated musically over the miniature wall. The worst had happened. Cicely had awaked. After one frightful moment, Captain Rage plunged on desperately. “In—instead of going down to the sea, you—you turn——” “Somebody,” said Mrs. Medallion in a freezing tone, “_somebody_ appears to desire your attention. Didn’t you hear them call?” Her nephew put his head on one side and appeared to listen. “Did they?” he said. Grimly his aunt surveyed him. “You must be deaf,” she said. “Never mind. If you don’t answer, I dare say they’ll call again.” She was perfectly right. Almost immediately— “_Toby darling_,” cried Miss Voile, “_have you got a cigarette?_” There was an awful silence. Miss Woolly, who had a keen sense of humour, set her white teeth and fought to suppress her mirth. Head up, Mrs. Medallion stared in the direction from which the voice had come, as one who has detected an unlawful and offensive smell. Fingers to mouth, Captain Rage was glancing over his shoulder with the nervous apprehension of the escaped felon who has heard his pursuers decide to bomb his lair. Two sweet, pretty hands appeared upon the miniature wall. The next moment, looking extraordinarily lovely, a flushed and hatless Cicely pulled herself abreast of the parapet. Toby stepped forward, put his hands under her arms and lifted the lithe figure on to the road. Then he turned to his aunt. “This is Miss Voile, Aunt Ira—Miss Cicely Voile. Cicely, this is my aunt, Mrs. Medallion.” Cicely stepped to the car and put out her hand. “How d’ye do?” she said with a charming smile. In stony silence Mrs. Medallion touched the slight fingers. “Are you engaged to my nephew?” “Of course I am,” said Cicely. “That’s why we’re alone. We got engaged last night, so we’re spending to-day in the mountains to recuperate. D’you think he’ll make me happy?” The ghost of a smile stole into Mrs. Medallion’s face. “That depends on his wife,” she said. “Why didn’t he tell me?” “We haven’t told anyone yet,” said Cicely Voile. “And I expect he’s shy. Men are funny like that, you know. They seem to regard their engagement as a confession of weakness.”