"Yes," said Billie, for there were no secrets between this girl and her father. At least, not many. She occasionally omitted to tell him some such trifle as that she had met Samuel Marlowe on the previous morning in a leafy lane, and intended to meet him again this afternoon, but apart from that her mind was an open book. "It's a great morning," said Mr. Bennett. "So peaceful," said Billie. "The eggs you get in the country in England," said Mr. Bennett, suddenly striking a lyrical note, "are extraordinary. I had three for breakfast this morning which defied competition, simply defied competition. They were large and brown, and as fresh as new-mown-hay!" He mused for a while in a sort of ecstasy. "And the hams!" he went on. "The ham I had for breakfast was what I call ham! I don't know when I've had ham like that. I suppose it's something they feed the pigs," he concluded, in soft meditation. And he gave a little sigh. Life was very beautiful. Silence fell, broken only by the snoring of Smith. Billie was thinking of Sam, and of what Sam had said to her in the lane yesterday; of his clean-cut face, and the look in his eyes--so vastly superior to any look that ever came into the eyes of Bream Mortimer. She was telling herself that her relations with Sam were an idyll; for, being young and romantic, she enjoyed this freshet of surreptitious meetings which had come to enliven the stream of her life. It was pleasant to go warily into deep lanes where forbidden love lurked. She cast a swift side-glance at her father--the unconscious ogre in her fairy-story. What would he say if he knew? But Mr. Bennett did not know, and consequently continued to meditate peacefully on ham. They had sat like this for perhaps a minute--two happy mortals lulled by the gentle beauty of the day--when from the window of the drawing-room there stepped out a white-capped maid. And one may just as well say at once--and have done with it--that this is the point where the quiet, peaceful scene in domestic life terminates with a jerk, and pity and terror resume work at the old stand. The maid--her name, not that it matters, was Susan, and she was engaged to be married, though the point is of no importance, to the second assistant at Green's Grocery Stores in Windlehurst--approached Mr. Bennett. "Please, sir, a gentleman to see you." "Eh?" said Mr. Bennett, torn from a dream of large pink slices edged with bread-crumbed fat. "Eh?" "A gentleman to see you, sir. In the drawing-room. He says you are expecting him." "Of course, yes. To be sure." Mr. Bennett heaved himself out of the deck-chair. Beyond the French windows he could see an indistinct form in a gray suit, and remembered that this was the morning on which Sir Mallaby Marlowe's clerk--who was taking those Schultz and Bowen papers for him to America--had written that he would call. To-day was Friday; no doubt the man was sailing from Southampton to-morrow.