He knew vaguely that Dandy’s smart tweeds had been too passionately sporting, the fringed tongues of her polished brogues too elaborate, her little cap worn at too rakish an angle, but she had kept a feminine graciousness, nevertheless. Harriet’s skirt and shirt were right for the place, if not exactly for a first call; her smoothly-drawn tie was a tie and not a frivolous butterfly of blue silk; her hat held no suggestion of advertisement _à la mode_; but she was hard from her tall silk collar to the nails in her square shoes. Even her glossy hair looked hard. He thought gloomily that no man would ever want to put his lips to it, or draw her well-set head against his shoulder. Dandy’s hair was soft as gossamer. Her little head would nestle as lightly as a downy Buff Orpington. He shook off the wandering thought, surprised and annoyed. She believed that he starved Flower! Helwise bustled down the stairs in the requested lavender, and fell over the bicycle, which instantly swung round by the head and described a graceful curve on the paint with a ribbed handle. The master of the house picked it up, and followed the ladies out, to find them already mounted. Helwise was anxious to be off, in case he remembered the subscriptions. Harriet had dispossessed the factotum of the reins, without asking anybody, and flourished down the drive, leaving echoes of “kitchen tea” behind her. Lanty went back into the house and looked at the mark on the wall. * * * * * They did have tea, after all, though not in the kitchen. Hamer would have felt the evading of his hospitality as a child the rejection of its penny bag of sweets. He saw to it also that Armer had a square meal. There were no half-measures about Hamer Shaw. He had a warm greeting for Lancaster’s aunt, and laboured heartily through her mixed periods, while Mrs. Shaw murmured crochet-patterns as she made the tea, and Dandy, with an anxious expression, hearkened to Harriet’s slashing opinions. There was a fair, pale young man, sitting as close to her as possible, who also seemed fascinated by the caller’s conversational methods. Harriet was enjoying herself. “Two and a half, _at least!_” she pronounced firmly, with a critical eye on Dandy’s skirt. “Anything less would be certain to trip you in turnips. And I don’t recommend leather--no, I can’t say that I recommend leather! It’s very nutty when it first comes home, but give it a day over plough, and slap it has to go into the bucket! Those brogues of yours are nailed all wrong, too. They should be done in threes”--she extended a foot for inspection--“and plain tongues, of course, the plainer the better. Those Indian-scalp imitations would soon hang you up in a fence.” “Does one run _all_ day in the country?” the young man inquired, deeply interested. Harriet nodded with condescension.