ies, we
had been to Goodwood. I had driven the car both ways and was healthily
tired, but the long ride had rendered us all weary, and the prospect of
a full night and a quiet morrow was good to contemplate.

On the following Tuesday we were going out of Town. Of this we were all
unfeignedly glad, for London was growing stale. The leaves upon her
trees were blown and dingy, odd pieces of paper crept here and there
into her parks, the dust was paramount. What sultry air there was seemed
to be second-hand. Out of the pounding traffic the pungent reek of oil
and fiery metal rose up oppressive. Paint three months old was seamed
and freckled. Look where you would, the silver sheen of Spring was dull
and tarnished, the very stones were shabby, and in the summer sunshine
even proud buildings of the smartest streets wore but a jaded look and
lost their dignity. The vanity of bricks stood out in bold relief
unsightly, dressing the gentle argument of Nature with such authority as
set tired senses craving the airs and graces of the countryside and
mourning the traditions of the children of men.

"Adele," said Daphne suddenly, "is sailing next week."

"Hurray," said Jill, waking up.

"Liverpool or Southampton?" said I.

"She doesn't say. But I told her to come to Southampton."

"I expect she's got to take what she can get; only, when you're making
for Hampshire, it seems a pity to go round by the Mersey."

"I like Adele," said Berry. "She never seeks to withstand that feeling
of respect which I inspire. When with me, she recognizes that she is in
the presence of a holy sage, and, as it were, treading upon hallowed
ground. Woman," he added, looking sorrowfully upon his wife, "I could
wish that something of her piety were there to lessen your corruption.
Poor vulgar shrew, I weep----"

"She says something about you," said Daphne, turning over a sheet. "Here
you are. _Give Berry my love. If I'd been with you at Oxford, when he
got busy, I should just have died. All the same, you must admit he's a
scream. I'm longing to see Nobby. He sounds as if he were a dog of real
character...._"

"Thank you," said her husband, with emotion. "Thank you very much. 'A
scream,' I think you said. Yes. And Nobby, 'a dog of character.' I can't
bear it."

"So he is," said I. "Exceptional character."

"I admit," said Berry, "he's impartial. His worst enemy can't deny that.
His offerings at the shrine of Gluttony are just as ample as those he