She held out hands that had to be taken and held, despite the formal crowd on the lawn. “I’m so glad you’re back.” A red mouth waited to be kissed. “We have missed you—daddy and I.” “My dear——” Mrs. Brocklebank was interested. So was her companion. “Who is that girl?” Mrs. Lankhurst had a way of screwing up her eyes, and wrinkling her forehead. “A Miss Carfax. She lives with her mother near here. Retired tradespeople, I imagine. The girl paints. She is doing work for Mr. Canterton—illustrating catalogues, I suppose.” “The child seems very fond of her.” “Children have a habit of making extraordinary friendships. It is the dustman, or an engine-driver, or something equally primitive.” “I suppose one would call the girl pretty?” “Too French!” Mrs. Lankhurst nodded emphatically. “Englishmen are so safe. Now, in any other country it would be impossible——” “Oh, quite! I imagine such a man as James Canterton——” “The very idea is indecent. Our men are so reliable. One never bothers one’s head. Yet one has only to cross the Channel——” “A decadent country. The women make the morals of the men. Any nation that thinks so much about dress uncovers its own nakedness.” The multi-coloured crowd had spread itself over the whole of the broad lawn in the front of the house, for Gertrude Canterton’s garden parties were very complete affairs, claiming people from half the county. She had one of the best string bands that was to be obtained, ranged in the shade of the big sequoia. The great cedar was a kind of kiosk, and a fashionable London caterer had charge of the tea. Lynette kept hold of Eve’s hand. “Where is your mother, dear?” “Do you want to see mother?” “Of course.” They wound in and out in quest of Gertrude Canterton, and found her at last in the very centre of the crowd, smiling and wriggling in the stimulating presence of a rear-admiral. She was wearing a yellow dress and a purple hat, a preposterous and pathetic combination of colours when the man she had married happened to be one of the greatest flower colourists in the kingdom. Eve shook hands and was smiled at. “How do you do, Miss Garvice?” “It isn’t Garvice, mother.” Eve was discreet and passed on, but Lynette was called back. “Lynette, come and say how do you do to Admiral Mirlees.” Lynette stretched out a formal hand. “How do you do, Admiral Mirlees?” The sailor gave her a big hand, and a sweep of the hat. “How do you do, Miss Canterton? Charmed to meet you! Supposing you come and show me the garden?” Lynette eyed him gravely. “Most of it’s locked up.” “Locked up?” “Because people steal daddy’s things.” “Lynette!” “I’m very busy, Admiral, but I can give you ten minutes.” The sailor’s eyes twinkled, but Gertrude Canterton was angry. “Lynette, go and show Admiral Mirlees all the garden.” “My dear Mrs. Canterton, I am quite sure that your daughter is telling the truth. She must be in great demand, and I shall be grateful for ten minutes.”