"Ah, Lord Burdon--Lord Burdon is longing to see you. Of Hunt I don't know what he says. But of you--Percival, he's longing for you. He's not been very well. He's kept to the house. He sent word how he had looked forward to meeting you at the station but could not, and begged you would go up to him as soon as ever you arrived. You must." "Why, of course I will," Percival said, and with recollection of Rollo--and of Rollo longing for him--was temporarily removed from the gloom that had beset him and returned to the anticipation of all that awaited him. "I will, of course. He's not ill?" "He's ever so much stronger since he came back. Only a cold that keeps him in. He has to keep well for the festivities, of course." Her reference was to the great twenty-fourth birthday celebrations--the coming of age according to Burdon tradition--and Percival agreed eagerly. "Why, rather! He'll want all his voice for the speeches! I was afraid once I'd not get back in time. As it is, I've only just done it. The nineteenth, next week, his birthday, isn't it?" "Next Thursday," Ima said, smiling to see him smile again. "Touch and go!" laughed Percival. "I might easily have missed it." He turned to Mr. Hannaford. "Mr. Hannaford, you'll have to stay a bit when we get home--have tea--and then drive me over to the Manor. We're talking about Lord Burdon and the festivities. Great doings, eh?" "Why, great doings is the word for it," said Mr. Hannaford. "Bless my eighteen stun proper if it ain't. Everybody invited a score o' miles round. Going to roast a nox whole, marquees in the grounds, poles with ribbons on 'em from the church to the Manor--" "From the church! What, is there going to be a service?" "Service!" said Mr. Hannaford. "Why, how's he going to be married without?" Percival almost jumped to his feet. "Married! Is he going to be married?" "What, don't you know, _partner_?" "I've not had letters for months. _Married_! Good lord, old Rollo married! Why, that's tremendous. Ima, why ever didn't you tell me? Married! Whom to?" Mr. Hannaford was enormously pleased at this excitement. "Give 'ee three guesses, _partner_." Percival cried: "Why, I couldn't guess in a thousand. It fairly knocks me. Old Rollo going to be married! Go on--tell me!" "Go on--guess," said Mr. Hannaford. "How can I guess? I don't know his London friends. I shan't even know her name." "Well, you'll ha' left your memory where you left that string o' little 'orses if 'ee don't. Ever heard o' Upabbot?" He twisted round to wink advertisement of his humour to Ima. "Got any sort of a glimmering rec'lection of Abbey Royal?--why, Miss Espart!" CHAPTER XII PRELUDE TO THE BIG FIGHT I Percival said in a quiet voice, "Put me down. Put me down--I'm going to walk."