Phœbe was unusually buoyant at lunch time to-day, but for once her cheerfulness failed in shedding sunshine on Philip. “My dear, I have got over such a difficult point,” she said. “Do you remember how Moses Isaacson got Algernon to sign the paper which acknowledged that he was not Lord St. Austell’s legitimate son?” “Yes, yes,” said Philip feverishly, trying to recall the exact happening of those miserable events. “Well, all that was written in invisible ink, and all he thought he signed was the lease of Eagles Castle. There! And look, here is the first dish of asparagus.” “And how about the lease?” asked Philip. “It was written in water-colour ink, and, of course, Moses Isaacson washed it off afterwards.” “Capital!” said Philip. “That does the trick.” There was silence for a minute or two as the novelists ate the fresh asparagus, and then Phœbe said: “To-morrow, dear, you will have to come and work with me in the drawing-room. The maids must begin their spring cleaning, and indeed it should have been done a month ago. We will have lunch and dinner in the hall while they do this room, and the day after they will do the drawing-room, and I will do my work with you here.” Philip’s fingers were stealing towards the last stick of asparagus, but at this they were suddenly arrested. “Ah, spring cleaning!” he said with assumed cheerfulness. “They just dust the books, I suppose, and sweep the floor.” She laughed. She had Eva’s celebrated laugh, which was like a peal of silver bells. “Indeed, they do much more than that,” she said. “Every book is taken out and dusted; they move all the furniture, and clean it all, back and front and top and bottom. But you won’t know a thing about it, except that our dear Elizabethan dining-room will look so spick and span that Elizabeth herself might have dinner in it. Some day we must do an historical novel, you and I. Think what a setting we have here!”