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 on!" 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.

"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 grey suit, and remembered
that this was the morning on which Sir Mallaby