Monica to Michael, he knew that he himself preferred one of the others. But which? Oh, it was ridiculous to ask such questions after seeing three girls for three minutes of moonlight. Perhaps it really had been sorcery, and in the morning, when he met them in Wychford High Street, they would appear dull and ordinary. They could not be so beautiful as he thought they were, he decided, since if they were he must have heard of their beauty. Nevertheless, it was in a mood of almost elated self-congratulation that Guy found himself hurrying through the orchard towards the candle-light of his room. The arrival of Miss Peasey, now that it was upon him, banished everything else; and instead of dreaming deliciously of that encounter in the water-meadows, he stood meditating on the failure of the kitchen. As he regarded the enormous dresser, the table trampling upon the fender, the seven dish-covers mocking his poor crockery, Guy had little hope that Miss Peasey would stay a week; and then suddenly, worse than any failure of equipment, he remembered that she might be hungry. He looked at his watch. A quarter past nine. Of course she would be hungry. She probably had eaten nothing but a banana since breakfast in Cardiff. Guy rushed out and surprised the landlord of the Stag by begging him to send the hostler down at once with cold beef and stout and cheese. "There's the 'bus," he cried. "Don't forget. At once. My new housekeeper. Long journey. And salad. Forgot she'd be hungry. Salt and mustard. I've got plates." The omnibus went rumbling past, and Guy followed at a jog-trot down the street, saw it cross the bridge, and, making a spurt, caught it up just as a woman alighted by the gate of Plashers Mead. "Ah, Miss Peasey," said Guy, breathlessly. "I went up the street to see if the 'bus was coming. Have you had a comfortable journey?" "Mr. Hazlewood?" asked the new housekeeper, blinking at him. The guard of the omnibus at this moment informed Guy that he had some cases for Plashers Mead. "Where is Mr. Hazlewood, then?" asked Miss Peasey, turning sharply. Over her shoulder Guy saw that the guard was apparently punching the side of his head, and he said, more loudly: "I'm Mr. Hazlewood." "I thought you were. I'm a little bit deaf after traveling, so you'll kindly speak slightly above the usual, Mr. Hazlewood." "I hope you've had a comfortable journey," Guy shouted. "Oh yes, I think I shall," she said with what Guy fancied was meant to be an encouraging smile. "I hope you haven't lost any of my parcels, young man," she continued, with a severe glance at the guard. "Four and a string-bag. Is that right, mum?" he bellowed. "She's as deaf as an adder, Mr. Hazlewood," he explained, confidentially. "We had a regular time getting of her into the 'bus before we found out she couldn't hear what was being said to her. Oh, very obstinate she was." "This is the garden," Guy shouted, as they passed in through the gate.