“Yes, I told you the other night,” said Lucia in a great hurry, “when you were doing cross-words, you and Pepino. Sure I did. Perhaps you weren’t attending. But----” “No, you never told me,” said Georgie firmly. “How cwoss oo sounds. But come round, Georgie, about eleven and have ’ickle chat. We’re going to be very stravvy and motor up, and perhaps keep the motor for a day or two.” “And when are you coming back?” asked Georgie. “Not quite settled,” said Lucia brightly. “There’s a lot of bizz-bizz for poor Pepino. Can’t quite tell how long it will take. Eleven, then?” Georgie had hardly replaced the receiver when there came a series of bangs and rings at his front door, and Foljambe coming from the kitchen with his dish of bacon in one hand, turned to open it. It was only de Vere with a copy of the _Times_ in her hand. “With Mrs. Quantock’s compliments,” said de Vere, “and would Mr. Pillson look at the paragraph she has marked, and send it back? Mrs. Quantock will see him whenever he comes round.” “That all?” said Foljambe rather crossly. “What did you want to knock the house down for then?” De Vere vouchsafed no reply, but turned slowly in her high-heeled shoes and regarded the prospect. Georgie also had come into the hall at this battering summons, and Foljambe gave him the paper. There were a large blue pencil mark and several notes of exclamation opposite a short paragraph. “Mr. and Mrs. Philip Lucas will arrive to-day from The Hurst, Riseholme, at 25 Brompton Square.” “No!” said Georgie. “Tell Mrs. Quantock I’ll look in after breakfast,” and he hurried back, and opened his copy of the _Times_ to see if it were the same there. It was: there was no misprint, nor could any other interpretation be attached to it. Though he knew the fact already, print seemed to bring it home. Print also disclosed the further fact that Lucia must have settled everything at least before the morning post yesterday, or this paragraph could never have appeared to-day. He gobbled up his breakfast, burning his tongue terribly with his tea.... “It isn’t only deception,” said Daisy the moment he appeared without even greeting him, “for that we knew already, but it’s funk as well. She didn’t dare tell us.” “She’s going to motor up,” said Georgie, “starting soon after eleven. She’s just asked me to come and say good-bye.” “That’s more deception then,” said Daisy, “for naturally, having read that, we should have imagined she was going up by the afternoon train, and gone round to say good-bye after lunch, and found her gone. If I were you, I shouldn’t dream of going to say good-bye to her after this. She’s shaking the dust of Riseholme off her London shoes.... But we’ll have no May-Day revels if I’ve got anything to do with it.” “Nor me,” said Georgie. “But it’s no use being cross with her. Besides, it’s so terribly interesting. I shouldn’t wonder if she was writing some invitations on the cards you saw----”