After lunch, Miss Gregson and Louis walked into the house. “My sister has brought me to say good-bye,” he said, after they had duly been introduced to Aunt Lavvy. “Or rather, to ask your combined advice as to whether I should make my dash for liberty tonight.” And Ursula, alert for signals, grasped that he was coolly going to discuss plans, and grope for hers, in front of the others; indeed, he had no option but to do so. She waited, amused, for her cue to enlighten him. Miss Gregson said, “I told him he’d do much better to wait until we had certain news about the strike, and Umberto agrees with me----” (“That’s the Eye-talian,” murmured Louis to Ursula.) Doug gave his opinion that a journey to London, under the circumstances, would be no end of a rag. “They might even let me drive the engine,” Louis agreed heartily. He just glanced at Ursula then, with the air of a man who can bide his time, and who can trust an intelligent woman to annex this same biding as special tribute to her wits, and not as detrimental to her charm. “Have you ordered Champion’s car to drive you into Gullick?” Ursula inquired. “I wonder----” she paused, doubtfully knitting her brows. Then: “What do you think, Doug? Shall I go in, too, if Mr. Gregson will give me a lift, and bring out some stores? We’ve two extra in the house now, you know, and the strike may mean a tightness of provisions, if we rely entirely on our Mr. Wright.” “I wouldn’t fuss,” said Doug, “we can always raid the shop.” “He has his six-shooter handy,” Christine reminded him, half seriously. “He has also special and private information about the probable strike,” Louis pattered on in his glib fashion. “So has the post office. So have the coastguards. The coastguards are apparently crystal-gazers in their spare time, for they are always credited, in a place like this, with mysterious advance knowledge. Some say the strike has started, some that it will start at sundown, or at midnight, or on Thursday week, or not at all. My business can’t wait until the day-before-yesterday’s papers come in the day-after-tomorrow. It’s no good clinging round my knees and sobbing, Sister Ann, because I have made up my mind” ... he had done so directly Ursula answered his unspoken “Will you risk it?” by her suggestion of driving into Gullick with him, to bring out stores. Miss Gregson snapped: “I’ve no intention of clinging round your knees, thanks. You’ve been here a goodish time, my lad, and Umberto and I are tired of you.” “Mr. Gregson must come to Grey Stone for true hospitality,” purred Aunt Lavvy. “Here, they welcome an old lady without even minding or noticing that she had arrived without any luggage! And yet”--playfully--“luggage is supposed to be a certificate of respectability, isn’t it?” A chorus of contrition broke from Doug, Christine and Ursula. “By Jove, nor you had! I _am_ an unobservant beast!”