'This is the shop,' Henry explained, 'where Hump works.' 'How perfectly fascinating!' exclaimed Mrs Henderson. Her quick eyes took in lathes, kites, models of gliders, tools. 'Bring him 'straight down here. I won't stir from this room till he's explained everything.' 'Hump!' called Henry, with austere politeness, up the stairway: 'Would you mind coming down?' He came--tall, stooping under the low lintel, in spotless white, distant in manner, but courteous, firmly courteous. Mrs Henderson, prowling about, lifted a wheel in a frame. 'What on earth is this thing?' she asked. 'A gyroscope.' 'What do you do with it?' Humphrey wound a long twine about the handle and set the wheel spinning like a top. 'Hold it by the handle,' said he. 'Now try to wave it around.' The apparently simple machine swung itself back to the horizontal with a jerk so violent that Mrs Henderson nearly lost her footing. Humphrey, with evident hesitation, caught her elbow and steadied her. She turned her eyes up to his, laughing, all interest. 'Sit right down in that chair and explain it to me,' she cried. 'How on earth did it do that? It's uncanny.' And she seated herself on a work-bench, with a light little spring. When Henry showed Corinne up the stairs, Humphrey was talking with an eager interest that had not before been evident in him. And Mrs Henderson was listening, interrupting him where his easy flow of scientific terms and mechanical axioms ran too fast for her. Henry's pulse beat faster. Suddenly the pleasantly arranged old barn looked, felt different. Charm had entered it. And the exciting possibility of fellowship--a daring fellowship. He was up in the living-room now. Corinne was moving lazily, comfortably about, humming a song by the sensational new Richard Strauss who was upsetting all settled musical tradition just then, and prying into corners and shelves. She wore a light, shimmery, silky dress that gave out a faint odour of violets. It drugged Henry, that odour. He felt for the first time as if he belonged in these rooms himself. Corinne found the kitchen cupboard', and exclaimed. 'Mildred!' she called down the stairs, in her rich drawling voice, 'come right up here--the cutest thing!' To which Mildred Henderson coolly replied:-- 'Don't bother me with cute things now. Play with Henry and keep quiet.' And Humphrey's voice droned on down there. Henry dropped on the piano stool. Corinne was certainly less indifferent. A little. He struck chords; all he knew. He hummed a phrase of the Colonel's song in _Patience_. Corinne drew a chair to the end of the keyboard and settled herself comfortably. 'Sing something,' she said. 'I love your voice.' 'It's no good,' said he, flushing with delight. Surely her interest was growing. He added:-- 'I'd a lot rather hear you.' But then, when she smilingly shook her head, promptly broke into-- 'If you want a receipt for that popular mystery