In a resolute attempt not to get to Stamton that day, he had turned due southward from Easewood towards a country where the abundance of bracken jungles, lady's smock, stitchwork, bluebells and grassy stretches by the wayside under shady trees does much to compensate the lighter type of mind for the absence of promising "openings." He turned aside from the road, wheeled his machine along a faintly marked attractive trail through bracken until he came to a heap of logs against a high old stone wall with a damaged coping and wallflower plants already gone to seed. He sat down, balanced the straw hat on a convenient lump of wood, lit a cigarette, and abandoned himself to agreeable musings and the friendly observation of a cheerful little brown and grey bird his stillness presently encouraged to approach him. "This is All Right," said Mr. Polly softly to the little brown and grey bird. "Business--later." He reflected that he might go on this way for four or five years, and then be scarcely worse off than he had been in his father's lifetime. "Vile Business," said Mr. Polly. Then Romance appeared. Or to be exact, Romance became audible. Romance began as a series of small but increasingly vigorous movements on the other side of the wall, then as a voice murmuring, then as a falling of little fragments on the hither side and as ten pink finger tips, scarcely apprehended before Romance became startling and emphatically a leg, remained for a time a fine, slender, actively struggling limb, brown stockinged and wearing a brown toe-worn shoe, and then--. A handsome red-haired girl wearing a short dress of blue linen was sitting astride the wall, panting, considerably disarranged by her climbing, and as yet unaware of Mr. Polly.... His fine instincts made him turn his head away and assume an attitude of negligent contemplation, with his ears and mind alive to every sound behind him. "Goodness!" said a voice with a sharp note of surprise. Mr. Polly was on his feet in an instant. "Dear me! Can I be of any assistance?" he said with deferential gallantry. "I don't know," said the young lady, and regarded him calmly with clear blue eyes. "I didn't know there was anyone here," she added. "Sorry," said Mr. Polly, "if I am intrudaceous. I didn't know you didn't want me to be here." She reflected for a moment on the word. "It isn't that," she said, surveying him. "I oughtn't to get over the wall," she explained. "It's out of bounds. At least in term time. But this being holidays--" Her manner placed the matter before him. "Holidays is different," said Mr. Polly. "I don't want to actually _break_ the rules," she said. "Leave them behind you," said Mr. Polly with a catch of the breath, "where they are safe"; and marvelling at his own wit and daring, and indeed trembling within himself, he held out a hand for her.