assented, "yet I suppose that there is not one of us
who knows as much of his neighbour's life as he imagines he does. Good
afternoon, Mr. Hurd! My visit has given me something to think about. I
may send for you to come to the house before I go away."

She drove away, leaning back amongst the cushions with half closed eyes,
as though tired. The country scenery with its pastoral landscape, its
Watteau-like perfections, was wholly unseen. Her memory had travelled
back, she was away amongst the days when the roar of life had been in
her ears, when for a short while, indeed, the waves had seemed likely to
break over her head. An unpleasant echo, this! No more than an echo--and
yet! The thought of old Stephen Hurd lying in his grave suddenly chilled
her. She shivered as she left the carriage, and instead of entering the
house, crossed the lawn to where Gilbert Deyes was lounging. He
struggled to his feet at her approach, but she waved him back again.

"Sybarite," she murmured, glancing around at his arrangements for
complete comfort. "You have sent Austin out alone."

"Dear lady, I confess it," he answered. "What would you have? It is too
fine an afternoon to kill anything."

She sank into a chair by his side. A slight smile parted her lips as she
glanced around. On a table by his side, a table drawn back into the
shade of the cedar tree, were several vellum-bound volumes, a tall
glass, and a crystal jug half full of some delicate amber beverage,
mixed with fruit and ice, a box of cigarettes, an ivory paper-cutter,
and a fan.

"Your capacity for making yourself comfortable," she remarked, "amounts
almost to genius."

"Let it go at that," he answered. "I like the sound of the word."

"I want you to go to Paris for me," she said abruptly.

He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and looked at her
thoughtfully. Not a line of his face betrayed the least sign of
surprise.

"To-morrow?" he asked.

"Yes!"

"I can get up in time for the two-twenty," he remarked thoughtfully. "I
wonder whether it will be too late for the Armenonville!"

She laughed quietly.

"You are a 'poseur,'" she declared.

"Naturally," he admitted. "We all are, even when the audience consists
of ourselves alone. I fancy I'm rather better than most, though."

She nodded.

"You won't mind admitting--to me--that you are surprised?"

"Astonished," he said. "To descend to the commonplace, what on earth do
you want me to go to Paris for?