She laughed softly.

"You don't know my father, Sir George," she answered. "He hates
exercise, detests being out of doors, and his idea of Paradise when he
is away from business is to be in a large hotel where every one speaks
English, where there are tapes and special editions and an American
bar."

Duncombe laughed.

"Then I am afraid Mr. Fielding will find it rather hard to amuse himself
down here."

"Well, he's discovered the telephone," she said. "He's spending the
morning ringing up people all over the country. He was talking to his
bankers when we came out. Oh, here come the rest of them. How tired they
look, poor things--especially the Baron! Nature never meant him to tramp
over ploughed fields, I am sure. Baron, I was just saying how warm you
look."

The Baron took off his cap, gave up his gun to a keeper, and turned a
glowing face towards them.

"My dear young lady," he declared, "I am warm. I admit it, but it is
good for me. Very good indeed. I tried to make your father walk with
us. He will be sure to suffer some day if he takes no exercise."

"Oh, father's never ill," the girl answered. "But then he eats nothing,
Sir George, I hope you're going to devote yourself to me at luncheon.
I'm terribly hungry."

"So we all are," Lady Runton declared. "Come along, every one."

Luncheon was served in a large open barn, pleasantly fragrant of dried
hay, and with a delightful view of the sea far away in the distance.
Miss Fielding chattered to every one, was amusing and amused. The Baron
gave her as much of his attention as he was ever disposed to bestow upon
any one at meal-times, and Duncombe almost forgot that he had
breakfasted at eight o'clock.

"Charming young person, that!" said Lady Runton's neighbor to her. "One
of our future Duchesses, I suppose?"

Lady Runton smiled.

"Lots of money, Teddy," she answered. "What a pity you haven't a title!"

The young man--he was in the Foreign Office--sighed, and shook his head.

"Such things are not for me," he declared sententiously. "My affections
are engaged."

"That isn't the least reason why you shouldn't marry money," her
ladyship declared, lighting a cigarette. "Go and talk to her!"

"Can't spoil sport!" he answered, shaking his head. "By Jove! Duncombe
is making the running, though, isn't he?"

Her ladyship raised her glasses. Duncombe and Miss Fielding had
strolled outside the barn. He was showing her his house--a very
picturesque old place i