we never seem to get as far as the
chickens. But Ukridge says his theory is mathematically sound, and he
sticks to it."

"Are you quite sure that the way you are doing it is the best way to
manage a chicken farm?"

"I should very much doubt it. I am a child in these matters. I had only
seen a chicken in its wild state once or twice before we came down
here. I had never dreamed of being an active assistant on a real farm.
The whole thing began like Mr. George Ade's fable of the Author. An
Author--myself--was sitting at his desk trying to turn out any old
thing that could be converted into breakfast-food when a friend came in
and sat down on the table, and told him to go right on and not mind
him."

"Did Mr. Ukridge do that?"

"Very nearly that. He called at my rooms one beautiful morning when I
was feeling desperately tired of London and overworked and dying for a
holiday, and suggested that I should come to Combe Regis with him and
help him farm chickens. I have not regretted it."

"It is a lovely place, isn't it?"

"The loveliest I have ever seen. How charming your garden is."

"Shall we go and look at it? You have not seen the whole of it."

As she rose, I saw her book, which she had laid face downwards on the
grass beside her. It was the same much-enduring copy of the "Manoeuvres
of Arthur." I was thrilled. This patient perseverance must surely mean
something. She saw me looking at it.

"Did you draw Pamela from anybody?" she asked suddenly.

I was glad now that I had not done so. The wretched Pamela, once my
pride, was for some reason unpopular with the only critic about whose
opinion I cared, and had fallen accordingly from her pedestal.

As we wandered down from the garden paths, she gave me her opinion of
the book. In the main it was appreciative. I shall always associate the
scent of yellow lupin with the higher criticism.

"Of course, I don't know anything about writing books," she said.

"Yes?" my tone implied, or I hope it did, that she was an expert on
books, and that if she was not it didn't matter.

"But I don't think you do your heroines well. I have just got 'The
Outsider--'" (My other novel. Bastable & Kirby, 6s. Satirical. All
about Society--of which I know less than I know about chicken-farming.
Slated by _Times_ and _Spectator_. Well received by _London Mail_ and
_Winning Post_)--"and," continued Phyllis, "Lady Maud is exactly the
same as Pamela in the 'Manoeuvres of Arthur.' I thou