He strolled off whistling cheerfully, bearing Lionel's good wishes. The latter was in a good humor with all the world to-day: he felt like giving a sovereign to every child, and a five-pound note to every grown-up. "If ever I make a hit with my plays," he thought, "I'll give the vicar a peal of bells and Mrs. Peters--what on earth could I give to Mrs. Peters? I suppose a calf-bound set of her husband's sermons would be the most acceptable souvenir, unless she's human enough to enjoy diamonds. Yes, I think it might be diamonds." He smiled at his happy visions, and walked back to the hammock-chair to wait till Beatrice should appear. He did not know, of course, whether she was coming by rail or motor, and therefore did not trouble to look out possible trains. He was quite content to wait patiently for her in that delightful garden, knowing now that he loved her, and hoping she might love, or learn to love him. But though he was content and patient, he could not distract himself, or spend the lagging hours with books or newspapers. He tried, indeed, but failed. After reading a few lines he found his attention wandering: he could not compel his brain to follow the paltry adventures of Mudie's heroines, or the stupendous feats chronicled in the daily press. Instead, his thoughts flew back to that lucky rescue in the Strand, to the wondrous hours with Beatrice in the theater or in the Bloomsbury flat, to the mad adventure of the magnanimous churchwarden, to the thousand incidents of the past adventurous month. He could not read, but tobacco was no hindrance to the brave play of memory and imagination, and with a luxurious smile he lighted a pipe and drowsed. Presently, between the nicotian clouds, he thought, "I must make Winifred be friends. What scheme shall I try? Winifred is a dear, too, though she has a woman's resentment. What can I do to make them all happy--to make every one happy? Winifred ... Beatrice...." The besotted lover, overcome with his soul's reaction, the June sun and a crowded morning, fell asleep.... He was roused by a touch upon the shoulder. He awoke and blinked lazily toward heaven. Beside him stood an angel in a lavender linen frock, and a lavender hat with a daring touch of black, carrying a lavender parasol with a white handle. It was Beatrice at last! CHAPTER XXV THE GOD OF THE MACHINE Lionel stared dumbly for a moment, not completely realizing what had happened. Then he jumped up with a wry smile. "You must think me a poor watcher," he said, inwardly cursing his sleepiness. "I was so busy waiting and thinking of you that I suppose I must have--I imagine I have--that is, I fell asleep. Did you come by train?"