“In forty-eight hours,” said John, “you’ll be the Queen. You mark my words. If you stay two days at Sundial, at the end of that time you’ll be ‘Miss Audrey’ to every soul in the place. They’re like the frogs in the fable; they want a sovereign—an idol. . . . Well, you’ve been sent.” Audrey slid down from the stile and into the lane. “Any way, you’re a wonderful courtier,” she said, smiling. “And now let’s come down to earth and find the car. You’ll love Aunt Lettice.” “‘Lettice,’” said Christopher thoughtfully. “It’s a sweet, pretty name. But I like ‘Audrey’ best.” “Oh, shame,” cried Miss de Lisle. “‘Lettice’ is incomparable.” “You can have it,” said Christopher John. “Give me ‘Audrey.’” “That,” said Miss de Lisle, “is because some time or other you’ve known a girl called ‘Audrey’ you rather liked.” The man nodded. “No doubt that’s the explanation,” he said gravely. “She was certainly dazzling. I always associate her with King Richard the Third.” “For Heaven’s sake,” said Audrey. “But why with him?” “Because, my lady,” said Christopher, “if Shakespeare may be believed, upon a certain occasion _he demanded a horse_.” * * * * * As Christopher John had foretold, so it fell out. Audrey was Queen of Sundial within the week. At the moment when she rounded Mow Corner and saw her heritage—at that moment she lost her heart. Thatch, brick-nogging and lattice; the greys knee-deep in a pool, raising dripping muzzles to stare at the car; hollyhocks gay in a garden against a black and white wall; the cheerful ring of an anvil and the rush of a sluice; lichened stocks on a greensward and a grey lych-gate beyond; the great yews in the churchyard and an apple-cheeked swain in a smock; the blessed scent of jasmine and the flash of the setting sun upon bottle-glass panes—these and other treasures took her by storm. She worshipped the place openly—and was found worshipful. The frogs wanted a king. The Manor House was vacant; the Vicar, a celibate recluse; Minever Park was for sale. Niche after niche was empty. And Sundial was of the old world and loathed the nakedness. The village was all agog to have a great lady. Audrey slid into the position naturally enough. _The Doublet_ ceased to be an inn and became ‘her lodging.’ Men went quietly until she was awake; the first-fruits were brought to her board; on Sunday she and her aunt were led to the Manor House pew—a tremendous affair, with a fireplace and a private door in the wall, leading out of the miniature chancel and commanding the church. The throne was waiting; that Audrey sat it so well she owed to herself. Proffering friendship, seeking friendship in return, she received devotion. The village life was simple, unspoiled: Audrey entered into it with a whole heart. Forge, stable, dairy—she was at home in them all. Eager, appreciative, swift, the freedom of Sundial was hers: she revelled in its possession: Sundial found her revelry gracious indeed.