"You gentlemen from London seem to study everything!" exclaimed Jack admiringly. "This one does credit to the local butcher," said Gilly solemnly, and looked round amazed when all glasses were lifted in honour of Jack Rock. "Food is the only thing Gilly studies," remarked Miss Dutton. The supper proving satisfactory, she felt at liberty to indulge her one social gift of a sardonic humour. "Quite right, Sally," Billy agreed. "Food for his own body and for the minds of children. What he makes out of the latter he spends on the former. That both are good you may see at a glance." "I find myself with something like an appetite," Gilly announced. "That's how I likes to see folks at the Lion," said old Mr. Dove, easily interposing from behind his chair. "A trifle more, sir?--Miss Miles, your eye seems to have missed Mr. Gilbert Foot's glass." "La, now, I was looking at Miss Flower's frock!" "Why, you helped to put it on me! You ought to know it." "It sets that sweet on you, Miss Flower." All was merry and gay and easy--a pleasant ending to a pleasant holiday. They all hoped to come back for the wedding, to run down for that eventful day, but work claimed them on the morrow. London clamoured for the Nun--new songs to be rehearsed now and sung in ten days. Billy Foot had a heavy appeal at Quarter Sessions; Gilbert Foot and Co. demanded the attention of its constituent members. "Harry's a long time getting back," Andy remarked, looking at his watch. "He's dallying," said Billy. "I should dally myself if I had the chance." "Perhaps he found Wellgood back; I know he wanted to speak to him--something about the settlements." "And what might you be going to sing in London next, miss?" asked Jack, gratefully accepting a tankard of beer which Mr. Dove, in silent understanding of his secret wishes, had placed beside him. "I'm going to be Joan of Arc," said the Nun. "Know much about her, Mr. Rock?" "Surely, miss! Heard of her at school. The old gentleman used to talk about her too, Andy. Burnt to death for a witch, poor girl, wasn't she?" "It seems a most appropriate part for our hostess," remarked Billy Foot. "Silly!" Miss Dutton shot out contemptously. "It's rather daring, but the Management put perfect reliance in my good taste," the Nun pursued serenely. "In the first song I'm just the peasant girl at--at--well, I forget the name of the village, somewhere in France--it'll be on the programme. In the second I'm in armour--silver armour--exhorting the King of France. They wanted me to be on a horse, but I wouldn't." "The horse might be heard neighing?" Billy suggested. "Off, you know." "Then the horse would be where I was afraid of being," said the Nun, and suddenly gurgled. "Silver armour! My! Don't you want to take me up to see her?" This came, in a perfectly audible aside, from Miss Miles to the Bird. Old Mr. Dove coughed, yet benevolently.