bout this delightful house. Though I hope I have
not vexed Sir Harry Otway. I have met so few Liberal landowners, and
I was anxious to compare his attitude towards the game laws with the
Conservative attitude. Ah, this wind! You do well to bathe. Yours is a
glorious country, Honeychurch!"

"Not a bit!" mumbled Freddy. "I must--that is to say, I have to--have
the pleasure of calling on you later on, my mother says, I hope."

"CALL, my lad? Who taught us that drawing-room twaddle? Call on your
grandmother! Listen to the wind among the pines! Yours is a glorious
country."

Mr. Beebe came to the rescue.

"Mr. Emerson, he will call, I shall call; you or your son will return
our calls before ten days have elapsed. I trust that you have realized
about the ten days' interval. It does not count that I helped you with
the stair-eyes yesterday. It does not count that they are going to bathe
this afternoon."

"Yes, go and bathe, George. Why do you dawdle talking? Bring them back
to tea. Bring back some milk, cakes, honey. The change will do you good.
George has been working very hard at his office. I can't believe he's
well."

George bowed his head, dusty and sombre, exhaling the peculiar smell of
one who has handled furniture.

"Do you really want this bathe?" Freddy asked him. "It is only a pond,
don't you know. I dare say you are used to something better."

"Yes--I have said 'Yes' already."

Mr. Beebe felt bound to assist his young friend, and led the way out
of the house and into the pine-woods. How glorious it was! For a little
time the voice of old Mr. Emerson pursued them dispensing good wishes
and philosophy. It ceased, and they only heard the fair wind blowing the
bracken and the trees. Mr. Beebe, who could be silent, but who could not
bear silence, was compelled to chatter, since the expedition looked like
a failure, and neither of his companions would utter a word. He spoke of
Florence. George attended gravely, assenting or dissenting with slight
but determined gestures that were as inexplicable as the motions of the
tree-tops above their heads.

"And what a coincidence that you should meet Mr. Vyse! Did you realize
that you would find all the Pension Bertolini down here?"

"I did not. Miss Lavish told me."

"When I was a young man, I always meant to write a 'History of
Coincidence.'"

No enthusiasm.

"Though, as a matter of fact, coincidences are much rarer than we
suppose. For example, it isn't purel