ed-faced and panting, on the lawn where
his mother and Magda were sitting.

"Isn't it nearly time for us to go to the seaside, mummie?" he inquired
plaintively.

Magda smiled down at the small wistful face.

"How would you like to go to the country instead, Topkins?" she asked.
"To a farm where they have pigs and horses and cows, and heaps of
cream--"

"And strawberries?" interpolated Coppertop pertinently.

"Oh, of course. Or, no--they'll be over by the time we get there. But
there'll be raspberries. That's just as good, isn't it?"

Gillian looked up, smiling a little.

"It's settled we're going 'there,' then--wherever it is?" she said.

"Do you think you'd like it, Gillyflower?" asked Magda. "It's a farm
I've heard of in Devonshire, where they want to take paying-guests for
the summer."

Gillian, guessing from Magda's manner that the whole matter was
practically arranged, nodded acquiescence.

"I'm sure I should. But will _you_?"--whimsically. She glanced at the
sophisticated simplicity of Magda's white gown, at the narrow suede
shoes and filmy stockings--every detail of her dress and person
breathing the expensiveness and luxury and highly specialised
civilisation of the city. "Somehow I can't imagine you--on a farm in the
depths of the country! I believe you'll hate it."

"I shall like it." Magda got up restlessly. "I'm sick of society and the
theatre and the eternal gossip that goes on in London. I--I want to get
away from it all!"

Gillian's thoughts turned back to the happenings of the last few months.
She thought she understood what lay behind Magda's sudden decision to
bury herself in the country.

"Have you taken rooms at this farm?" she asked.

"Yes, I have"--shortly. Then, with one of those sudden flashes of
affectionate insight which were part of her essential lovableness, she
went on: "Gilly, are you sure you don't mind? I ought to have asked you
first"--remorsefully. "I expect you'll be bored to death. Perhaps you'd
rather not come?"

Gillian's quiet brown eyes smiled at her reassuringly.

"'Where thou goest--'" she quoted. "Of course I want to come. I've never
been to Devonshire. And I know Coppertop will adore the pigs and cows--"

"And cream," put in Coppertop ruminatively.

"Tell me about the place," said Gillian. "How did you hear of it?"

"Through the prosaic columns of the _Daily Post_," replied Magda. "I
didn't want a place recommended by anyone I knew. That doesn't cut the