"I hope your mother wasn't angry at your leaving town," he said, tentatively. "I thought of telegraphing an invitation to her; but there really isn't room for another person." "I'm afraid I can't say that she was gracious about my desertion of her. Indeed, she's beginning to put pressure on me to give up my post. Quite indirectly, of course, but one feels the effect just the same. Who knows? I may succumb." John nearly fell out of the dog-cart. "Give up your post?" he gasped. "But, my dear Miss Hamilton, the dog-roses won't be in bloom for some months." "What have dog-roses got to do with my post?" He laughed a little foolishly. "I mean the play won't be finished for some months. Did I say dog-roses? I must have been thinking of the dog-cart. You drive with such admirable unconcern. Still, you ought to see these hedgerows in summer. Now the time I like for a walk is about eight o'clock on a June evening. The honeysuckle smells so delicious about eight o'clock. There's no doubt it is ridiculous to live in London. I hope you made it quite clear to your mother you had no intention of leaving me?" "Ida Merritt did most of the arguing." "Did she? What a very intelligent girl she is, by the way. I confess I took a great fancy to her." "You told mother once that she frightened you." "Ah, but I'm always frightened by people when I meet them first. Though curiously enough I was never frightened of you. Some people have told me that _I_ am frightening at first. You didn't find that did you?" "No, I certainly did not. And I can't imagine anybody else's doing so either." Although John rather plumed himself upon the alarm he was credited with inspiring at first sight, he did not argue the point, because he really never had had the least desire to frighten his secretary. "And your relations don't seem to find you very frightening," she murmured. "Good gracious, what an assemblage!" The dog-cart had just drawn clear of the beechwood, and the whole of the Ambles party could be seen vigilantly grouped by the gate to receive them, which John thought was a lapse of taste on the part of his guests. Nor was he mollified by the way in which after the introductions were made Hugh took it upon himself to conduct Miss Hamilton indoors, while he was left shouting for William the groom. If it was anybody's business except his own to escort her into the house, it was Hilda's. "What a very extraordinary thing," said John, fretfully, "that the _only_ person who's wanted is not here. Where is that confounded boy?" "I'm here," cried Bertram, responding to the epithet instinctively. "Not you. Not you. I wanted William to take the mare." When lunch was over John found that notwithstanding his secretary's arrival he was less eager to begin work again upon his play than he had supposed. "I think I must be feeling rather worn out by Christmas," he told her. "I wonder if a walk wouldn't do you good after the journey."