“Thank you so very much,” said Maradick. “That was delightful.” But he was aware that, although the little tune had been played again and again, it had already completely passed from his memory. He could not recall it. “What was the name of it?” he asked. “It has no name,” Morelli answered, smiling. “It’s an old tune that has been passed down from one to another. There is something rather quaint in it, and it has many centuries behind it.” Then Tony got up, and to Maradick’s intense astonishment said: “I say, Maradick, it’s time we were going, it’s getting awfully late.” He had been willing to give the boy as long a rope as he pleased, and now—but then he understood. It was the perfect moment that must not be spoiled by any extension. If they waited something might happen. He understood the boy as far as that, at any rate. Morelli pressed them to stay, but Tony was firm. He went forward and said good night to Miss Minns, then he turned to Janet. “Good night, Miss Morelli,” he said. “Good night,” she answered, smiling. “Please come again and tell me more.” “I will,” he said. Morelli’s good-bye was very cordial. “Whenever you like,” he said, “drop in at any time, we shall be delighted.” They walked back to the hotel in absolute silence. Tony’s eyes were fixed on the hill in front of him. As they passed under the dark line of trees that led to the hotel he gripped Maradick’s hand very hard. “I say,” he said, “help me!” CHAPTER VII MARADICK LEARNS THAT “GETTING A VIEW” MAY HAVE ITS DANGERS AS WELL AS ITS REWARDS Two days after the arrival of the Lesters Lady Gale arranged a picnic; a comprehensive, democratic picnic that was to include everybody. Her motives may be put down, if you will, to sociability, even, and you involve a larger horizon, to philanthropy. “Everybody,” of course, was in reality only a few, but it included the Lesters, the Maradicks, and Mrs. Lawrence. It was to be a delightful picnic; they were to drive to the top of Pender Callon, where there was a wonderful view, then they were to have tea, and then drive back in the moonlight. Dear Mrs. Maradick (the letter went)— It would give me such pleasure if you and your husband could come with us for a little Picnic at Pender Callon to-morrow afternoon, weather permitting, of course. The wagonette will come round about two-thirty. I do hope you will be able to come. Yours sincerely, Beatrice Gale. Mrs. Maradick considered it a little haughtily. She was sitting in the garden. Suddenly, as she turned the invitation over in her mind, she saw her husband coming towards her. “Oh!” she said, as he came up to her, “I wanted to talk to you.” He was looking as he always did—big, strong, red and brown. Oh! so healthy and stupid!