Wellgood was back from a ride round his farms--a weekly observance with him. He had been grimly encouraging the good husbandmen, badly scaring the inefficient, advising them all to keep their labourers in order, and their womankind as near to reason as could be hoped for. Now he had his hour of relaxation over tea. He was a great tea-drinker--four or five cups made his allowance. Tea is often the libertinism of people otherwise severe. He leant back in his garden-chair, his gaitered legs outstretched, and drank his tea, Isobel Vintry replenishing the swiftly-emptied cup. She performed the office absent-mindedly--with an air of detachment which hinted that she would fulfil her duties, routine though they might be, but must not be expected to think about them. "Where's Vivien?" he asked abruptly. "In the west wood--with Mr. Harry. He said they'd be back for tea." "Oh!" He finished his third cup and handed the vessel over to her to be refilled. "Things getting on?" "Yes, I think so. Here's your tea." "Why do you think so? Give me another lump of sugar." "Sugar at that rate'll make you put on too much weight. Well, I gave him a hint that the pear was ripe." "You did? Well, I'm hanged!" "You think I'm very impudent?" "What did you say? But I daresay you said nothing. You've a trick with those eyes of yours, Isobel." "I've devoted them solely to supervising your daughter's education, Mr. Wellgood." "Oh yes!" he chuckled. He liked impudence from a woman; to primitive man--Wellgood had a good leaven of the primitive--it is an agreeable provocation. "I'll bet you," she said--with her challenging indolence that seemed to say "Disturb me if you can!"--"I'll bet you we hear of the engagement in ten minutes." "You know a lot about it! What'll you bet me?" "Anything you like--from a quarter's salary downwards!" said Isobel. She sat facing the path from the west wood. On it she saw two figures, arm in arm. Wellgood had his back turned that way. The situation was favourable for Isobel's bet. A light hand in flirtation could not be expected from a man to whom the heavy hand--the strong decisive grip--was gospel in matters public and private. Besides, he had grown impatient; his affair waited on Harry's. "From a quarter's salary downwards? Will you bet me a kiss?" "Yes," she smiled, "if losing means the kiss. Because I know I shall win, Mr. Wellgood." Harry and Vivien came near, still exalted in dreams, the new man and the girl transformed. Wellgood had not noticed them, perhaps would have forgotten them anyhow. "If winning meant the kiss?" he said. "I don't bet as high as that, except on a certainty," smiled Isobel. "Another cup?" "No, but I tell you, Isobel--" He leant over the table towards her. "Don't tell me, and don't touch me! They're just behind you, Mr. Wellgood."