"I must go slow," concluded Andy, whose friends were already smiling at the deliberate gait with which he trod the path of love. "Hullo, there's an hour before lunch! I may as well finish some of these accounts for Gilly." This satisfaction he was not destined to enjoy. He was interrupted by a visitor. Harry Belfield came in, really a vision to gladden an artist's eyes, in a summer suit of palest homespun--he affected that material--with his usual blue tie unusually bright--shirt and socks to match; a dazzlingly white panama hat crowned his wavy dark locks. He looked immensely handsome, and he was gay, happy, and affectionate. "Thought I might just find you, old chap, because you're always mugging when everybody else is having a holiday. Look here, I want you to do something for me, or rather for Isobel. I'm off yachting for three or four months--rather a jolly party--and Isobel's going to take a house in the country for herself and the boy. She doesn't know much about that sort of business, and I wanted to ask you to let her consult you about the terms, and so on, to see she's not done, you know. That'll be all right, won't it? Because I really haven't time to look after it." "Of course. Anything I can do--please tell her. She's not going with you?" "No," said Harry, putting his foot on the table and regarding it fondly, as he had at a previous interview in Andy's office. "No, not this trip, Andy. She doesn't care much for the sea." The slightest smile flickered on his lips. "Besides, it's 'Men only' on board." The smile broadened a little. "At least we're going to start that way, and they're taking me--a respectable married man--along with them to help them to keep their good resolutions. Well, old boy, how do you like it in the House? I haven't observed many orations put down to you!" "I've only spoken once--hardly a speech. But I'm working pretty well at it." "I'll bet you are! And at it here too, I suppose? Lazy beggar, Gilly Foot!" "Gilly's woken up wonderfully. You'd hardly know him." Harry yawned. "Well, I'm wanting a rest," he said. "I've had one or two worries lately. Oh, it's all over now, but I shall be glad to get away for a bit. By Jove, Andy, the great thing in life is to be able to go where you like, and when you like"--his smile flashed out again--"and with whom you like, isn't it? Are you off anywhere for Whitsuntide?" "Only down to Meriton." "Quiet!" But Harry had not always found it so; it was the quieter for his absence. "I like being there better than anywhere else," was Andy's simple explanation of his movements. A clerk came in and handed him a card. "I told the lady you had somebody with you, and asked her to take a seat in the outer room for a moment." Andy read the card. "I'll ring," he said absently, and looked across at Harry. "Lady? Eminent authoress? Or is this not business? Have her in--don't hide her, Andy!" "It's Vivien Wellgood." Harry turned his head sharply. "What brings her here?"