"I know," said Adrian, "I am aware of that, Miss Chance. But I never was a Conservative. My opinions might be classified as Republican-Imperialist. Let me reason with you. If the legs are on the sofa, and the head is on the floor, blood flows freely to the brain, and it swells with astonishing rapidity. Result, a vigorous crop of ideas. I’m full of them at this moment--my brain is, that’s to say. They are sprouting so rapidly that I shall be able to impart to you information on many subjects in a brace of jiffs." Miss Chance was about to plunge into further depths, when Christobel intervened politely. "Don’t listen to him, Miss Chance, he is talking the worst kind of piffle--suppose we go to bed. Addie, get up, your head was never intended for a carpet-cleaner. Come along and say good-night to Mum, she’s gone up because she had a headache." Crow stood up and stretched. Adrian, after a violent effort to get on to the sofa by muscular effort alone, came on to his feet in the ordinary way, and proceeded to shake himself into his garments with some regard to appearance. "Now I wonder," said Miss Chance, gathering all her properties into order, and replacing some in drawers, "I wonder whether you two would give _me_ a lift to-morrow. I want a day’s shopping in Salterne, or some hours anyway--why shouldn’t I go in with you--and sail out?" There was one short pause strenuous with meaning! Then Crow, as usual, met the difficulty. "If you want to shop, Miss Chance, it wouldn’t fit in, you see we should have to go to the harbour and get the yawl out--and home. I am sorry, but really it would be difficult to get time for shopping, wouldn’t it, Addie?" "Well, well, we will discuss the matter in the morning," said Miss Chance, not in the least offended. She certainly was a "goodhearted soul," as Crow impressed on Adrian going upstairs. "She may be," he declared desperately, "but her good heart won’t be much use in the boat. She’ll most likely be drowned, and we shall be responsible." The depths of gloom are speedily reached. Mrs. Romilly was sitting in an arm-chair before a little fire. She said she was cold after all that rain. She was dressed in a loose gown of the colour matching her eyes, and her lovely hair--just like Pamela’s--was hanging round her like a shawl. "I’ll brush that," said Christobel firmly. Adrian sat down on the fender-stool with his back to the fire and looked dejected. "Is your head bad--or better, Mummy, dear?" asked Christobel, proceeding to the business of brushing. "Addie and I have been talking to Miss Chance, or we should have come sooner." Mrs. Romilly said her head was better, also that she was very pleased they’d been talking to Miss Chance; finally she wanted to know if anything had been said about the sail from Salterne. "If you go, and when you go," she concluded, "she wants to go in with you--walk to Five Trees, I mean, and sail home."