we're too well known about here to take any chances. And now I
think we'll slip along to _The Fountain_ and find Sir Anthony."

"You tell me I speak good English," said Adele.

"So you do."

"Well, I don't want to spoil my record. What's the Anglo-Saxon for 'a
thaw-proof nerve '?"

"Can't be done," said I. "But I can put your mouth into Italian. _Bocca
bella carissima._ Now, isn't that nice?"

The sweet pretty lips began to tremble with laughter.

"You're incorrigible," she announced. "Fifteen long months, and you
haven't changed a bit."

"Long months, Adele?"

The soft rose of her cheeks was glowing as she turned to reply.

"The longest I've ever spent," she said softly. "That--that's the worst
of cutting your hair. I thought it was never going to grow."

"They've been very long ones for me, Adele."

Up went the delicate eyebrows.

"Have they?"

I nodded.

"A close scrutiny will reveal that my hair, once a rich mud colour, is
now flecked with grey."

"I should attribute that to the march of Time."

I shook my head.

"The responsibility," I said, "rests with the United States of America.
Seriously, I missed you terribly."

"That," said Adele, "I refuse to believe. If you had, you would have
paid us a visit."

"I was not invited."

Adele shrugged her shoulders.

"Any old way," she announced, "I'm here now. And, while we're on the
subject of hair, please remember that since you last saw me, I've put
mine up."

"Which means?"

"That I am a dangerous woman of the world, who gives nothing and takes
everything--with a grain of salt. I warn you, I've changed."

"Unquestionably," said I, "you have had a violent love-affair. That is
as plain as is the dainty nose upon your charming face."

Adele regarded me with a dazzling smile.

"I forgot," she said, "that I was addressing an expert. Tell me, d'you
think I shall get over it?"

"If you don't," said I, "it shan't be my fault."

"You're very good."

"Not at all," said I. "Can you spell 'homoeopathy'?"

* * * * *

For a man who had just parted with the home of his fathers, poor old Sir
Anthony was in high spirits. Lock, stock and barrel, Merry Down had been
sold to the highest bidder. Of that there was no manner of doubt. What
was more to the point was that the purchaser, who had paid a good price,
was of English blood, and had known Derry Bagot at Eton, and soldiered
with him first in South Africa and after