ather----"

"I say! You're not going to tell the Governor?"

"No, never, Savile dear. It shall be our secret," said Aunt William,
reassuringly.

"Of course, I know this sort of thing is great rot," he said
apologetically, "but women like it."

"Oh, do they really?" said Aunt William. "Well! what I always say is, if
you're born with a gift, you should cultivate it!"

Savile (thinking this encouragement rather meagre) replaced the poem and
said: "I shall have to be going now, Aunt William. Got an appointment."

"With whom, my dear?"

"Yes," said Savile dryly. He did not approve of this direct method of
ascertaining what one wants to know. He would confide, but never
answered questions. She accepted the hint, but would not acknowledge it.

"Ah, I see!" she said knowingly (wishing she did). "Well, if you must
go, you must!"

"Yes, Aunt William."

"But before you go, about that party ... I'm coming, of course. In fact,
I'm having my peach brocade done up. Tell dear Sylvia that if there's
anything I can do--I mean in the way of helping her with regard to the
supper----"

"We've telephoned to Benoist's. It's all fixed up. Thanks very much."

"Oh! But still I think I'll send my recipe for salmon mayonnaise. Don't
you think I might?"

"It can't do any harm, when you come to think of it," he answered,
getting up.

Before he left, Aunt William pressed a sovereign into his hand guiltily,
as if it were conscience money. He, on his side, took it as though it
were a doctor's fee, and both ignored the transaction.

"Tell your father I'm sure I shall enjoy his entertainment, though why
on _earth_ he still lives in Onslow Square, when he ought to be in
London, I can't and never shall, understand. However, I believe there's
quite a sort of society in Kensington, and no doubt _some_ of the right
people will be there. Are any of the Primrose League coming, do you
know, Savile?"

"Sure to be. There's Jasmyn Vere for one."

"Oh, Lord Dorking's son. He's a Knight Harbinger."

"Is he, though? He looks like a night porter," said Savile. "Good-bye."
He then turned back to murmur. "I say, Aunt William. Thanks most
awfully." She went back smiling.

* * * * *

A few minutes later Savile was looking over the railings into Berkeley
Square.

In a kind of summer-house among the trees sat a little girl of fourteen
dressed in grey. She wore a large straw hat on her head and a blue bow
in her hair