t the Spatts was between them; the sleepless
night was between them. (And had she not saved him by her presence of mind
from the murderous hand of Mr. Ziegler?) They had a million things to
impart. And yet naught was uttered save a few banalities about the weather
and about the healthfulness of being up early. They were bashful,
constrained, altogether too young and inexperienced. They wanted to behave
in the grand, social, easeful manner of a celebrated public performer and
an heiress worth ten million francs. And they could only succeed in being a
boy and a girl. The chauffeur alone, at from thirty to forty miles an hour,
was worthy of himself and his high vocation. Both the passengers regretted
that they had left their beds. Happily the car laughed at the alleged
distance between Frinton and Moze. In a few minutes, as it seemed, with
but one false turning, due to the impetuosity of the chauffeur, the vehicle
drew up before the gates of Flank Hall. Audrey had avoided the village of
Moze. The passengers descended.

"This is my house," Audrey murmured.

The gates were shut but not locked. They creaked as Audrey pushed against
them. The drive was covered with a soft film of green, as though it were
gradually being entombed in the past. The young roses, however, belonged
emphatically to the present. Dewdrops hung from them like jewels, and their
odour filled the air. Audrey turned off the main drive towards the garden
front of the house, which had always been the aspect that she preferred,
and at the same moment she saw the house windows and the thrilling
perspective of Mozewater. One of the windows was open. She was glad,
because this proved that the perfect Aguilar, gardener and caretaker, was
after all imperfect. It was his crusty perfection that had ever set Audrey,
and others, against Aguilar. But he had gone to bed and forgotten a
window--and it was the French window. While, in her suddenly revived
character of a harsh Essex inhabitant, she was thinking of some sarcastic
word to say to Aguilar about the window, another window slowly opened from
within, and Aguilar's head became visible. Once more he had exasperatingly
proved his perfection. He had not gone to bed and forgotten a window. But
he had risen with exemplary earliness to give air to the house.

"'d mornin', miss," mumbled the unsmiling Aguilar, impassively, as though
Audrey had never been away from Moze.

"Well, Aguilar."

"I didn't expect ye so earl