And, of course, we only saw it from outside. The little drive, determined to get there as soon as possible, pushed its way straight through an old barn, and arrived at the door simultaneously with the flagged lavender walk for the humble who came on foot. The rhododendrons were ablaze beneath the south windows; a little orchard was running wild on the west; there was a hint at the back of a clean-cut lawn. Also, you remember, there was a golf course, less than two miles away. "Oh," said Celia with a deep sigh, "but we must live here." An Irish terrier ran out to inspect us. I bent down and patted it. "With a dog," I added. "Isn't it all lovely? I wonder who it belongs to, and if--" "If he'd like to give it to us." "Perhaps he would if he saw us and admired us very much," said Celia hopefully. "I don't think Mr. Barlow is that sort of man," I said. "An excellent fellow, but not one to take these sudden fancies." "Mr. Barlow? How do you know his name?" "I have these surprising intuitions," I said modestly. "The way the chimneys stand up--" "I know," cried Celia. "The dog's collar." "Right, Watson. And the name of the house is Stopes." She repeated it to herself with a frown. "What a disappointing name," she said. "Just Stopes." "Stopes," I said. "Stopes, Stopes. If you keep on saying it, a certain old-world charm seems to gather round it. Stopes." "Stopes," said Celia. "It _is_ rather jolly." We said it ten more times each, and it seemed the only possible name for it. Stopes--of course. "Well!" I asked. "We must write to Mr. Barlow," said Celia decisively. "'Dear Mr. Barlow, er--Dear Mr. Barlow--we--' Yes, it will be rather difficult. What do we want to say exactly?" "'Dear Mr. Barlow--May we have your house?'" "Yes," smiled Celia, "but I'm afraid we can hardly ask for it. But we might rent it when--when he doesn't want it any more." "'Dear Mr. Barlow,'" I amended, "'have you any idea when you're going to die?' No, that wouldn't do either. And there's another thing--we don't know his initials, or even if he's a 'Mr.' Perhaps he's a knight or a--a duke. Think how offended Duke Barlow would be if we put '---- Barlow, Esq.' on the envelope." "We could telegraph. 'Barlow. After you with Stopes.'" "Perhaps there's a young Barlow, a Barlowette or two with expectations. It may have been in the family for years." "Then we--Oh, let's have lunch." She sat down and began to undo the sandwiches. "Dear o' Stopes," she said with her mouth full. We lunched outside Stopes. Surely if Earl Barlow had seen us he would have asked us in. But no doubt his dining-room looked the other way; towards the east and north, as I pointed out to Celia, thus being pleasantly cool at lunch-time. "Ha, Barlow," I said dramatically, "a time will come when _we_ shall be lunching in there, and _you_--bah!" And I tossed a potted-grouse sandwich to his dog. However, that didn't get us any nearer.