"Most remarkable," murmured the General. "One feels compelled to wonder what it would have been if he'd had the right end in his mouth." Derek emitted a hollow groan. "And where do you feel it worst, my dear boy?" continued the great man, gazing at him through his eyeglass. "Dyspepsia, sir," he whispered feebly. "Dreadful dyspepsia. I can't sleep, I--er--Good Lord!" His eyes opened, his voice rose, and with a fixed stare of horror he gazed at the door. Through it with due solemnity came James Henry holding in his mouth a furless and very dead cat. He advanced to the centre of the group--laid it at the General's feet--and having sneezed twice sat down and contemplated his handiwork: his tail thumping the floor feverishly in anticipation of well-merited applause. It was possibly foolish, but, as Derek explained afterwards to Monica, the situation had passed beyond him. He arose and confronted the General, who was surveying the scene coldly, and with a courtly exclamation of "Your cat, I believe, sir," he passed from the room. * * * * * The conclusion of this dreadful drama may be given in three short sentences. The first was spoken by the General. "Let it be buried." And it was so. The second was whispered by Lady Monica--later. "Darling, I had to _say_ we were engaged: it looked so peculiar." And it was even more so. The third was snorted by James Henry. "First I'm beaten and then I'm kissed. Damn all cats!" PART TWO THE LAND OF TOPSY TURVY PART TWO THE LAND OF TOPSY TURVY CHAPTER I THE GREY HOUSE You come on it unexpectedly, round a little spur in the side of the valley, which screens it from view. It stands below you as you first see it, not a big house, not a little one, but just comfortable. It seems in keeping with the gardens, the tennis courts, the orchards which lie around it in a hap-hazard sort of manner, as if they had just grown there years and years ago and had been too lazy to move ever since. Peace is the keynote of the whole picture--the peace and contentment of sleepy unwoken England.