"He is very young," Wilhelmina remarked composedly, "and I fancy that he must be a little mad. I hope that Thorpe will teach him a lesson. He needs it." "You do not anticipate then," Deyes remarked, "that his labours here will be crowned with success?" "He won't get a soul to hear him," Stephen Hurd replied confidently. "The villagers all know what Miss Thorpe-Hatton thinks of his coming here. It will be quite sufficient." Wilhelmina lit a cigarette and rose to her feet. "Let us hope so," she remarked drily. "Please remember, all of you, that this is the Palace of Ease! Do exactly what you like, all of you, till five o'clock. I shall be ready for bridge then." Lady Peggy rose briskly. "No doubt about what I shall do," she remarked. "I'm going to bed." Deyes smiled. "I," he said, "shall spend the afternoon in the rose garden. I need--development." Wilhelmina looked at him questioningly. "Please don't be inexplicable," she begged. "It is too hot." "Roses and sentiment," he declared, "are supposed to go together. I want to grow into accord with my surroundings." Wilhelmina was silent for a moment. "If you have found sentiment here," she said carelessly, "you must have dug deep." "On the contrary," he answered, "I have scarcely scratched the surface!" Stephen Hurd looked uneasily from Deyes to his hostess. Never altogether comfortable, although eager to accept the most casually offered invitation to Thorpe, he had always the idea that the most commonplace remark contained an innuendo purposely concealed from him. "Mr. Deyes," he remarked, "looks mysterious." Deyes glanced at him through his eyeglass. "It is a subtle neighbourhood," he said. "By the bye, Mr. Hurd, have you ever seen the rose gardens at Carrow?" "Never," Hurd replied enviously. "I have heard that they are very beautiful." Wilhelmina passed out. "The gardens are beautiful," she said, looking back, "but the roses are like all other roses, they fade quickly. Till five o'clock, all of you!" CHAPTER IX SUMMER LIGHTNING Stephen Hurd walked into the room which he and his father shared as a sanctum, half office, half study. Mr. Hurd, senior, was attired in his conventional Sabbath garb, the same black coat of hard, dull material, and dark grey trousers, in which he had attended church for more years than many of the villagers could remember. Stephen, on the other hand, was attired in evening clothes of the latest cut. His white waistcoat had come from a London tailor, and his white tie had cost him considerable pains. His father looked him over with expressionless face. "You are going to the House again, Stephen?" he asked calmly. "I am asked to dine there, father," he answered. "Sorry to leave you alone." "I have no objection to being alone," Mr. Hurd answered. "I think that you know that. You lunched there, didn't you?" Stephen nodded. "Miss Thorpe-Hatton asked me as we came out of church," he answered. "You play cards?"