only musical by fits and starts, and generally either to
impress some one or because he was out of temper. Val never regarded it
as a good sign when he grappled with the Steinway.

In ten minutes he had grown tired of his mood of melody, and strolled
into the rose garden with a book.

Yes, certainly Harry was restless.

CHAPTER XXX

THE ANGLES

"You're very quiet, Val," remarked Daphne, as they flew along in the
motor on their way to call on the Prebendary's wife at The Angles.

Both sisters wore little cottage bonnets, blue motor-veils, and large
loose white coats with high collars.

"How can I talk when we're exceeding the speed limit?" said Valentia.

"You usually do. Is anything the matter?"

"No, nothing at all.... Harry's been horrid lately."

"I suppose he _is_ occasionally."

"No, he's not. He's got the artistic temperament, and of course he can't
always be the same, poor dear."

"What a pity one can't be an artist without having the artistic
temperament! It always seems to mean being late for meals, and losing
your temper, or being amusing when every one wants to go to bed."

"As a matter of fact," said Valentia, "I never knew any one with less of
it than Harry. There isn't a more hard-headed business man in the world
in his way, though he _has_ read poetry and plays the piano sometimes,
and paints. He is an artist too ... but--well, not in any of the
recognised arts.... I hear Miss Luscombe and Rathbone--I mean Mr. and
Mrs. Rathbone--have gone to Oberammergau for their honeymoon."

"Oh! Is that the latest thing to do?"

"Of course not, Daphne, but she thinks it is. Miss Luscombe has spent
her life in trying to catch the last omnibus and always just missing it,
and she's not going to leave off now just because she happens to be
married. Here we are!"

The Prebendary's wife received them very graciously. Her waist looked
longer than ever, and her skirt seemed more than usually abnormal in
width. She did all that she could to entertain them. She showed them her
son Garstin's map of Buckinghamshire, and then said--

"I'll send for Mr. Stoendyck. He's upstairs inventing. You can't _think_
how clever he is and how hard he works. It's really wonderful! We often
leave him alone for hours to think things out, and sometimes he plays
sonatas; he says it refreshes him. He really is an extraordinary man."

Mr. Stoendyck came in, looking very martial and scientific and pleased
with himself, as