Kind and sweet,—but what was the use? It must be Chilton, Chilton, or nothing at all. And so Lola kissed her gratitude upon the hot, rouged cheek, but shook her head and sighed. (Go on, de Brézé, go on.) “He wouldn’t dare,” she said. “Nowhere in town; it’s far too dangerous. The least whisper, the merest hint of gossip——” Lady Cheyne wobbled at the thought. There was more in this than met the eye,—a Great Romance, love in High Places. How wonderful to be in, perhaps, on History. “But at night,” she said. “Late, when every one’s in bed. I assure you that after twelve One Hundred might be in the country.” “Ah,” said Lola, “the country. Isn’t there some place in the country, high up near the sky, with woods behind it where we can meet and speak——” “Whitecross!” cried Lady Cheyne, brilliantly inspired. “Made for love and kisses, if ever there was a place. How dull of me only just to have thought of that.” “Whitecross? What is that?” How eager the tone, how tremulous the voice. “My darling nest on the Chilterns, where I’m so seldom able to live. If only I could get away,—but I’m tied to town.” “Next Friday, perhaps,—that’s the last, the very last——” “Well, then, it must be Friday. I can’t resist this thing, my dear, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll leave on Thursday. It will give a new bevy of my protégés a little rest and a quiet time for practise. And you can come down on Friday.” “You darling!” (Good for you, de Brézé. Very well done, indeed.) “Now get a pencil and a piece of paper and write everything down. The station is Princes Risborough.” (As if Lola didn’t know that!) “You go from Paddington and you catch the two-twenty arriving there just before four. I can’t send a car to meet you, because my poor old ten-year-old outside would drop to pieces going up to Whitecross. So you must take a station cab and be driven up in time for tea, and you will find one Russian, one Pole, two Austrians, one Dane and a dear friend of mine with a voice like velvet who was a Checko-Slovak during the War and German before and after. A very nice lot, full of talent. I don’t know where they’re all going to sleep and I’m sure they don’t care, so what’s it matter? They’ll give us music from morning to night and all sorts of fun in between. Killing two birds with one stone, eh?” Was it the end of the rainbow at last? “Oh, dear Lady Cheyne, what can I say?” “Nothing more, now, you dear little wide-eyed celandine; wait till we meet again. Run away and leave me to Mrs. Rumigig. It’s a case of old frocks on to new linings. Income tax drives us even to that. But I’m very glad, oh, so very glad you came to me, my dear!” And Lola threw her arms round the collector of stray dogs and poured out her thanks, with tears. One rung nearer, two rungs nearer.—And in the next room, having heroically overcome an almost conquering desire to put her ear to the keyhole, stood Mrs. Rumbold, still suffering from the second of her surprises.