"Didn't you see Nuckett?" she asked of Jasmine, whose attempt to kiss her aunt had been rather like biting hard on a soft pink sweet and finding nougat or some such adamantine substance within. Jasmine, wondering who Nuckett might be, assured her aunt that she had not seen him. "Which means that he will wait down there for the 9.38. Hector!" she called to her husband, who was at that moment bending down to salute his niece, "Nuckett will be waiting at the station for the 9.38. What can we do about it?" Sir Hector recoiled from the kiss, blew out his cheeks, and looked at his niece with the expression he reserved for wantonly hysterical young girls. There ensued a long discussion of the methods of communication with Nuckett, during which Jasmine's spirits, temporarily exhilarated by the ride behind the orange postilion, sank lower than at any point on the journey. Nor were they raised by the entrance of her two cousins, who were looking at her as if one of the servants had upset a bottle of ink which had to be mopped up before they could advance another step. At last the problem of Nuckett's evening was solved by entrusting the postilion with authority to recall him. "You mustn't bother to dress for dinner to-night," conceded Lady Grant, apparently swept by a sudden gust of benevolence. "Pamela dear, take Jasmine to her room, will you?" "Do you get much golf in Sirene?" enquired Pamela on the way upstairs. Jasmine stared at her, or rather she opened wide her eyes in alarm, which had the effect of a stare on her cousin. "No, I've never played golf." It was Pamela's turn to stare now in frank horror at this revelation. "Never played golf?" she repeated. "What did you do at home then?" "I played picquet sometimes with father." This was too much for Pamela, who could think of nothing more to say than that this was a chest of drawers and that that was a wardrobe, after which, with a hope for the success of her ablutions, she left Jasmine to herself. Presently a maid tapped at the door. "Please, miss, her ladyship would like to know where you would prefer the packing-cases put." "Oh, couldn't you bring them up here?" Jasmine asked eagerly. "That is, of course," she added, "if it isn't too much trouble." The maid protested that it would be no trouble at all; but her looks belied her speech. "And if you could bring them up at once," added Jasmine quickly, "I should be very much obliged." She had a plan in her head for softening her relatives, the successful carrying out of which involved having the crates in her room. After a few minutes they arrived. "I'm afraid I can't open them with my umbrella," she said. She was not being facetious, for in her impetuousness she had tried, and broken the umbrella. "I wonder if you could find me a screw-driver?" "Oh yes, miss, I daresay I could find a screw-driver." "And a hammer," shouted Jasmine, rushing out of her room to the landing and calling down the stairs to the housemaid.