ning to me," Deyes answered, rising. "I expect she
wants some bridge."

"I'm on," Lady Peggy declared cheerfully. "Whom shall we get for a
fourth?"

"Wilhelmina has found him already," Deyes declared. "It's the new young
man, I think."

Lady Peggy shrugged her shoulders.

"The agent's son?" she remarked. "I shouldn't have thought that he would
have cared about our points."

"He can afford it for once in a way, I should imagine," Deyes answered.
"I can't understand, though----"

He stopped short. She looked at him curiously.

"Is it possible," she murmured, "that there exists anything which
Gilbert Deyes does not understand?"

"Many things," he answered; "amongst them, why does Wilhelmina patronize
this young man? He is well enough, of course, but----" he shrugged his
shoulders expressively; "the thing needs an explanation, doesn't it?"

"If Wilhelmina--were not Wilhelmina, it certainly would," Lady Peggy
answered. "I call her craving for new things and new people positively
morbid. All the time she beats her wings against the bars. There are no
new things. There are no new experiences. The sooner one makes up one's
mind to it the better."

Gilbert Deyes laughed softly.

"If my memory serves me," he said, "you are repeating a cry many
thousand years old. Wasn't there a prophet----"

"There was," she interrupted, "but they are beckoning us. I hope I don't
cut with the young man. I don't believe he has a bridge face."

CHAPTER V

EVICTED

Victor Macheson smoked his after-breakfast pipe with the lazy enjoyment
of one who is thoroughly at peace with himself and his surroundings. The
tiny strip of lawn on to which he had dragged his chair was surrounded
with straggling bushes of cottage flowers, and flanked by a hedge thick
with honeysuckle. Straight to heaven, as the flight of a bird, the thin
line of blue smoke curled upwards to the summer sky; the very air seemed
full of sweet scents and soothing sounds. A few yards away, a procession
of lazy cows moved leisurely along the grass-bordered lane; from the
other side of the hedge came the cheerful sound of a reaping-machine,
driven slowly through the field of golden corn.

The man, through half closed eyes, looked out upon these things, and
every line in his face spelt contentment. In repose, the artistic
temperament with which he was deeply imbued, asserted itself more
clearly--the almost fanatical light in his eyes was softened; one
saw there wa