d to his
slumbers. And, as he did so, my eye, roving discontentedly over the
carriage, was caught by something lying in the far corner. It was "The
Manoeuvres of Arthur." The girl had left it behind.

I suppose what follows shows the vanity that obsesses young authors. It
did not even present itself to me as a tenable theory that the book
might have been left behind on purpose, as being of no further use to
the owner. It only occurred to me that, if I did not act swiftly, the
poor girl would suffer a loss beside which the loss of a purse or
vanity-case were trivial.

Five seconds later I was on the platform.

"Excuse me," I said, "I think...?"

"Oh, thank you so much," said the girl.

I made my way back to the carriage, and lit my pipe in a glow of
emotion.

"They are blue," I said to my immortal soul. "A wonderful, deep, soft,
heavenly blue, like the sea at noonday."

CHAPTER IV

THE ARRIVAL

From Axminster to Combe Regis the line runs through country as
attractive as any that can be found in the island, and the train, as if
in appreciation of this fact, does not hurry over the journey. It was
late afternoon by the time we reached our destination.

The arrangements for the carrying of luggage at Combe Regis border on
the primitive. Boxes are left on the platform, and later, when he
thinks of it, a carrier looks in and conveys them into the valley and
up the hill on the opposite side to the address written on the labels.
The owner walks. Combe Regis is not a place for the halt and maimed.

Ukridge led us in the direction of the farm, which lay across the
valley, looking through woods to the sea. The place was visible from
the station, from which, indeed, standing as it did on the top of a
hill, the view was extensive.

Half-way up the slope on the other side of the valley we left the road
and made our way across a spongy field, Ukridge explaining that this
was a short cut. We climbed through a hedge, crossed a stream and
another field, and after negotiating a difficult bank, topped with
barbed wire, found ourselves in a garden.

Ukridge mopped his forehead, and restored his pince-nez to their
original position from which the passage of the barbed wire had
dislodged them.

"This is the place," he said. "We've come in by the back way. Saves
time. Tired, Millie?"

"A little, dear. I should like some tea."

"Same here," I agreed.

"That'll be all right," said Ukridge. "A most competent man of the