“I’ll be there,” said Audrey, pulling the grass by her side. “But I wish I could do something,” she added wistfully. “Don’t get embroiled in politics, my pretty maid.” Miss de Lisle frowned. “I’ve a jolly good mind,” she said, “to write to him.” “You don’t even know his name,” said Christopher John. “Yes, I do. Pendragon. And you can get his address.” Christopher swallowed. “I’m sure you’d be asking for trouble,” he said uneasily. “Why not let sleeping dogs lie? You can’t believe all the gossip that——” “I can and do,” said Audrey. “I don’t say I’m going to write, but I’d like his address. I shall expect it at ten to-morrow morning.” “Very good, m’lady,” said John, and pulled his forelock. “Here, I’m not a Queen to you,” said Audrey de Lisle. “You give me orders, and reject my advice.” “That’s not a royal prerogative. Every woman does that. But I won’t accept homage from you—not even in jest. I don’t like it.” “You called me a courtier once,” said Christopher John. “I take it back,” said Audrey. “I didn’t know you then.” “Too late,” said Christopher mournfully, shaking his head. “The damage is done. You ought to be more careful. If you didn’t want my, er, homage, you should have stayed away. You came: I saw: you conquered. Now I’m your thrall. Of course I’m familiar—rather like an old nurse. I grin when I see you coming, I call you ‘Audrey’—at least, I’m going to in future—and I criticize your clothes. I also make personal remarks. I’m not sure we oughtn’t to kiss one another. For all that, I’m your thrall—Audrey.” Audrey put a hand to her temples. “This is terrible,” she said. “I’d no idea I was so—so compelling . . . Christopher dear.” “Look in your glass,” said John. “The pier-glass, I mean. Not that the other won’t do, but the pier-glass’ll hit harder. What colour are the pyjamas?” “Periwinkle blue,” gurgled Audrey. “Oh, I can’t bear it,” cried Christopher, covering his eyes. “Never mind. Look in the blinkin’ glass. . . . That’ll give you an idea. Of course, it won’t be the same. You’ve a way—a carelessness of pose and gesture that takes a man by the throat. It’s a sort of assault—a precious battery. Sitting up on that stile, just as if you’d alighted—dropped out of the sky, swinging your sweet, pretty leg, with a hand on your hip and a maddening smile on your mouth, ‘all on a summer’s day’—well, I give you my word, I almost expected you to say ‘He’s pinched the lot.’” In a shaking voice— “I’m sure,” said Audrey, “Bo-Peep would never have——” Christopher rose to his feet and knocked out his pipe. “Who’s talkin’ about Bo-Peep?” he said contemptuously. “The lady I saw was H.M. The Queen of Hearts.” * * * * * At five minutes to ten the next morning Audrey was leaning against the Manor House gates. These were of wrought iron and great beauty. As Christopher John approached— “Have you got his address?” she demanded. Christopher mentioned a Club.