"We’re going to live out at Hampstead to begin with," Bob explained, cheerily. "I suppose it must be flats, for it won’t run to a house. Dick thinks we might share a big one, but I know the girls would quarrel, and when sisters do quarrel, then you hear things. I shall go into a motor-car business, and open a garage somewhere. Dick is going to write books when he can afford the paper—and I’m sorry for Thackeray and those fellows. Perhaps you’ll come and see us when we’re settled down, though I say it’s the settling up that’s the trouble. Hampstead’s not a bad place, and they don’t charge anything for the empty ginger-beer bottles on the Heath. I wonder if you really would come, Lady Delayne?" Lily said it would be a pleasure to do so, though her secret doubt as to the establishment of this particular _ménage_ remained unspoken. Concerning Dick, however, she had no afterthought. He had grown sentimental in an hour, and saw nothing but a vision of Marjory in his brightest heaven. "I’ve always wanted to write a book," he said, "but a man needs a spur. It’s impossible for a fellow to do anything when he’s a bachelor and men are coming in every five minutes to look over his shoulder. I could have finished a play last year, if it hadn’t been for the Scratch Medal at Neasden, but I was so keen to win it that I never got further than the prologue. Now, however, I mean to take my coat off." "And to fly—like Benny, the wonderful Benny," Bob added. He was surprised to learn that her ladyship had heard nothing of this. Did she not know that a regular mob was expected at the Palace to-morrow to see that amazing hero, Mr. Benjamin Benson, try for the great prize offered by the _Daily Recorder_ of London? Well, it was so. They were even making up beds on the billiard table, and what sort of a game was a man expected to play on a mattress? "It’s the most amazing get-back I ever heard of," he ran on, delighted to interest her so much. "Benny’s the last man in Switzerland we should have looked to for this, and here he is, cock-a-whoop in the papers, and as famous as a prize-fighter. In London they’re talking of nothing else. He’s invented a new kind of aeroplane, and one which must be the machine of the future, so they say. That’s why he didn’t come into the hotel. We thought him a secret kind of bird, and all the time he was just working away to bag the £10,000 offered by the London editor. If he gets it, it will be an eye-opener; but old Gordon Snagg, who has been hanging about the chalet, declares he will get it, and that he deserves to. Don’t you see, Lady Delayne, that Benny has been the ghost? It was his machine over the Zaat which scared the people so. Fancy, old Benny—mustn’t he have a head, and didn’t he think a lot when he heard us talking about him?" Dick took a more serious view of it.