all you have with you?"

The last remark was ironical. It referred to the two quite large
steamer trunks of Mr. Spillikins that were being loaded, together with
his suit-case, tennis racket, and golf kit, on to the fore part of the
motor. Mr. Spillikins, as a young man of social experience, had roughed
it before. He knew what a lot of clothes one needs for it.

So the motor sped away, and went bowling noiselessly over the oiled
road, and turning corners where the green boughs of the great trees
almost swished in their faces, and rounding and twisting among curves
of the hills as it carried Spillikins and Philippa away from the lower
domain or ordinary fields and farms up into the enchanted country of
private property and the magic castles of Casteggio and Penny-gw-rydd.

Mr. Spillikins must have assured Philippa at least a dozen times in
starting off how awfully good it was of her to come down in the motor;
and he was so pleased at her coming to meet him that Philippa never
even hinted that the truth was that she had expected somebody else on
the same train. For to a girl brought up in the principles of the High
Church the truth is a very sacred thing. She keeps it to herself.

And naturally, with such a sympathetic listener, it was not long before
Mr. Spillikins had begun to talk of Dulphemia and his hopes.

"I don't know whether she really cares for me or not," said Mr.
Spillikins, "but I have pretty good hope. The other day, or at least
about two months ago, at one of the Yahi-Bahi meetings--you were not in
that, were you?" he said breaking off.

"Only just at the beginning," said Philippa; "we went to Bermuda."

"Oh yes, I remember. Do you know, I thought it pretty rough at the end,
especially on Ram Spudd. I liked him. I sent him two pounds of tobacco
to the penitentiary last week; you can get it in to them, you know, if
you know how."

"But what were you going to say?" asked Philippa.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Spillikins. And he realized that he had actually
drifted off the topic of Dulphemia, a thing that had never happened to
him before. "I was going to say that at one of the meetings, you know,
I asked her if I might call her Dulphemia."

"And what did she say to that?" asked Philippa.

"She said she didn't care what I called her. So I think that looks
pretty good, don't you?"

"Awfully good," said Philippa.

"And a little after that I took her slippers home from the Charity Ball
at the Grand Palaver.