It was a beautiful summer day of blue and gold, and the twenty-five miles to Beechwood lay through some of the fairest country in England. Pleasantly warmed by the sun, and lulled by the gentle drone of the motor, the old people lay back in their comfortable seats, and gazed contentedly at the passing scenery. Not so Nancy, who, sitting upright, with a demure smile on her face and mischief in her eyes, proceeded to question Leslie with an apparently artless enthusiasm as to the various parts of the car. He answered her seriously and politely, never smiling or varying from the respectful tone of a temporary employé. "I hope Nancy isn't bothering that young man too much," observed the Colonel in an undertone to his wife. Mrs. Peyton beamed good-naturedly at the couple in front. "Oh, people of that sort like to be asked questions," she whispered back. "He's proud to show off his car to Nancy; you can be sure of that." "I only hope she won't make him run us into a ditch with her chattering," was the Colonel's rejoinder. That this tragedy was successfully avoided may be gathered from the fact that half an hour later the car pulled up in a little woodland clearing just above Beechwood village. It was a charming spot carpeted with soft mossy turf, and hemmed in on three sides with trees. From the fourth the Buckinghamshire countryside stretched out in a magnificent rolling panorama of twenty miles. After a brief and whispered consultation with his wife, Colonel Peyton turned to Leslie. "I hope you'll lunch with us, Mr. Leslie," he said. "We have brought plenty for four." Leslie bowed. "I shall be very pleased to," he answered. And going round to the back of the car, he proceeded to assist Nancy in getting out the hamper. The lunch looked most attractive spread out on a clean white cloth, for, like many elderly soldiers, Colonel Peyton regarded food as only slightly inferior in importance to religion and good breeding. Seated beside Mrs. Peyton, Leslie found himself being patronized by that complaisant lady with all the well-meaning condescension of her kind. "You must eat a good lunch, Mr. Leslie," she observed, helping him generously to cold game-pie. "I am sure it must be most tiring driving that great heavy car." "To say nothing of answering all your questions--eh, Nancy?" put in the Colonel. "Have some champagne?" He held out the bottle to Leslie. The latter filled up Mrs. Peyton's glass, and then helped himself. "Driving a car nowadays isn't a very tiring business," he explained, "especially when one is used to it." "Well, I mean to try it before long," said the Colonel. "One has to take to the infernal things in self-defence--what? I shall probably come down on you, now you've taken to making cars yourself. Sir Herbert Temple tells me they're excellent." Nancy clapped her hands. "Oh, Father, that will be delightful!" she said. "And can't you get Mr. Leslie to come and drive us?"