the
remainder of the flock with sheep-like docility. After Nugent, Mr.
Mallory's eyes sought and found Leslie Chermside, and in his case there
was more food for reflection. Mr. Mallory was at once aware that
Chermside was observing him with equal interest; in fact, their eyes
actually met in a quick thrust and parry of unspoken question on one
side, and something that was curiously akin to defiance on the other.

The ex-Lancer was for the moment standing alone, and Mr. Mallory moved
towards him as if to speak. But he was forestalled by Violet, who came
up and evidently claimed Leslie as escort on the homeward walk, for they
started in the wake of the others before Mr. Mallory, if such had been
his intention, could make any attempt to detain them.

He was more fortunate in the case of Reggie Beauchamp, and he had his
daughter to thank for the capture. Enid, not having outgrown her
schoolgirl devotion to sweets, had lingered round the tables for a final
ice, and the young sailor was still in faithful attendance. Mr. Mallory
pounced on the pair just as they had realized that a general stampede
was in progress, and were preparing to follow.

"Beauchamp, I wish you would remain with Mr. Maynard and myself for a
little," he said. "There is a point on which I want to fortify myself
with your opinion. We can walk back to the Manor afterwards."

Enid began to pout and toss her head, but she knew every phase of her
idolized father's moods, and one glance at the network of creases round
the keen eyes was sufficient to quell her incipient mutiny. The
appearance of those filaments on the stern, ascetic face was a sure
danger-signal that her father was not to be trifled with--that the
active brain was at work on some serious problem. She put her ice-plate
down and, bidding the Lieutenant "make himself generally useful," ran
away to overtake the fast-receding party.

She had hardly departed when Montague Maynard came bustling up, wiping
his brow with a silk handkerchief. He stopped for an instant to order
the wondering servants to pack up the crockery ready for the cart and to
get home as quick as they could, and then he turned to Mr. Mallory,
while Reggie, with instinctive modesty, fell back a pace or two.

"Aunt Sally is a masterpiece; I'll tell you how she did it later," he
said, his eyebrows uplifted inquiringly in the direction of the young
torpedo-boat commander.

"It is all right. He's wanted," interpolated Mr. Mallory s