“One gets about. Of course there are crowds of cat-footers who frowst indoors with a book or a needle, but nobody worth mentioning. One’s always off somewhere, either on a push-bike or Shanks’s pony. The tennis is getting over, but I can put you up for the hockey, if you care about it, Miss Shaw. I’m captain, and Miss Lancaster is secretary and all that kind of thing. By the way, Helwise, have you got your fixtures out yet?” Miss Lancaster turned a vague eye. “Fixtures? I believe Lancelot has them somewhere. He generally arranges them for me--I’m so busy! He likes doing little things like that. Of course, _I_ do all the _real_ work, shaking hands with the teams when they come, and seeing that they have plenty of hairpins and two cups of tea. _He_ only writes the letters and keeps the funds straight.” “That’s her nephew,” Harriet kindly explained to Dandy and the pale young man. “Agent for Bluecaster--perhaps you’ve met him. Rather a slow old tortoise, but well-meaning. So it’s settled you’ll play hockey? Where’s your place, I wonder? Forward, I should think, in a decent skirt.” Dandy thanked her politely, having expressed no opinion whatever on the matter. Hamer looked across with a twinkle in his eye. Both Harriet and Helwise pleased him mightily. The buffeting breeziness of the one moved him to tolerant amusement, while the silvery ineffectiveness of the other claimed his chivalry. He promised subscriptions without demur, and Helwise almost purred aloud. Lancelot was so ridiculously narrow and proud. Why, these new people _liked_ to be asked! “You’ll be going to the Show, of course?” Harriet demanded. “Bluecaster Agricultural Show, I mean. What do you do? Oh, you--you _prod_. Sheep and cows and things, that is. I’m showing, of course, and if I don’t get anything there’ll be a row. Perhaps you know I farm? And you scrap with your friends as to which hunter will grab the card--at least, other people do. I’ve given it up myself, because I’m always right. Occasionally I get a bit lost at the Royal, and have to fall back on Lanty Lancaster, but I’m always O.K. at these local arrangements. You’ll join the choral society, I suppose? I’m nothing of a singist personally, but I always put in an appearance. They like it. Keeps the thing together, don’t you know? I’m not sure that it’s quite good form to have much of a voice--looks a bit like swank--so you’ll be all right. Lanty Lancaster used to belong at one time. He’s got a few decent notes somewhere round the bottom C.” “Wiggie--Mr. Wigmore--sings, too,” Dandy put in meekly, glad of a chance to speak. The pale young man was the only friend from the old life that had managed to get into touch with the new. He had stayed on unobtrusively after the others had departed blatantly, and the house had not repudiated him. Harriet gave him a casual stare.