Sally said, “Hurrah, let’s. In this sand-pit.” So they got into the sand-pit and produced seven packets of food, which is to say that they each produced one except Cecil, who had omitted to bring his, and undemurringly accepted a little bit of everyone else’s. They then played hide and seek, dumb crambo, and other vigorous games, because as Arnold said, “A moment’s pause, and we are undone,” until for weariness the pause came upon them, and then Cecil promptly seized the moment and produced the play, and they had to listen. Arnold succumbed, vanquished, and stretched himself on the heather. “You have won; I give in. Only leave out the parts that are least suitable for Sally to hear.” So, like other days in the country, the day wore through, and they caught the 5.10 back to Waterloo. At supper that evening Eddy told the vicar about Mrs. Le Moine’s proposal. “So she’s coming to-morrow night, with Datcherd.” Hillier looked up sharply. “Datcherd! That man!” He caught himself up from a scornful epithet. “Why not?” said the vicar tolerantly. “He’s very keen on social work, you know.” Peters and Hillier both looked cross. “I know personally,” said Hillier, “of cases where his influence has been ruinous.” Peters said, “What does he want down here?” Eddy said, “He won’t have much influence during one evening. I suppose he wants to watch how they take the music, and, generally, to see what our clubs are like. Besides, he and Mrs. Le Moine are great friends, and she naturally likes to have someone to come with.” “Datcherd’s a tremendously interesting person,” said Traherne. “I’ve met him once or twice; I should like to see more of him.” “A very able man,” said the vicar, and said grace. CHAPTER V. DATCHERD AND THE VICAR.