“We’ll have a go at this after tea,” she said as she sat down and observed the results of her handiwork. “Mercy, how different the room looks! Those flowers are a breath of the real country. You’ve chased London out of the window, Mr. Fayre!” “London isn’t so easily chased out as that, I’m afraid. It makes me ache to get away from it. It’s all very well for the young, but for people like myself it’s grown a little overwhelming. So many of the old landmarks are gone and life seems to have grown amazingly hectic in such a short time. I dare say it’s partly a question of contrast. The East’s noisy, but it’s a place of leisure. I’ve lost the habit of moving quickly.” She nodded appreciatively. “I know what you mean. It takes me the same way. I spend my life among plants and animals and I’m beginning to realize how slowly and surely nature progresses. Everything else, nowadays, seems anything but slow and appallingly insecure. At least, that’s my feeling, but then I’ve crossed Piccadilly at least half a dozen times to-day and I’m wondering why I’m still alive. The moment my business here is finished I shall make for home again. What are your plans, now that you are back in England for good?” “A little place somewhere in the country, just large enough to hold a few friends and a dog or two. If possible, some fishing. Then I shall settle down and cultivate my garden and write a dull book about India.” “You won’t be lonely?” “Are you?” Fayre shot back at her. She laughed. “No, I must admit I’m not, but you must remember that I’ve got a small village on my hands and I’m on all sorts of queer little local committees and things. _You_ don’t propose to become the vicar’s prop and stay, I presume?” “Not exactly, but I’ve no doubt that some of the philanthropists of the neighbourhood will find a use for me. I’ve never met any one yet who escaped them.” “Oh, they’ll get you,” agreed Miss Allen cheerfully. “When I took Greycross, more years ago than I like to think of, I mapped out a neat little program for myself. Riding to hounds in winter and gardening and tennis in summer. I saw myself drifting into a healthy, mildly selfish old age, but the local busybodies got me before I’d been there a year. And you’ll be easier to net than I was!” “I’m not so sure,” asserted Fayre grimly. “I am. You’re the sort that can’t see a child fall down without crossing the road to pick it up. You won’t have a chance!” Fayre reddened as he caught the disarming twinkle in her eyes. “Look at you now,” she went on ruthlessly. “How long have you been home?” “Three months, more or less,” he informed her meekly. “And you’re up to your eyes in this affair of John Leslie’s already. And, as soon as that’s over, you’ll find some one else in trouble.” “It’s a depressing program for a man who has come home to enjoy a well-earned rest,” he protested.