e and get it?"

Choking with indignation, Jill stretched out a rosy hand in the
direction of the toastrack.... Suddenly the light of mischief leapt into
her grey eyes, and she called Nobby. In a flash the Sealyham--never so
vigilant as at meal-time--was by her side. Cheerfully she gave him the
last piece of toast. Then she turned to Berry with a seraphic smile.

"I'm afraid there's none left," he said.

* * * * *

Before we had finished lunch, the rain had ceased, and by the time we
were under weigh, _en route_ for Broken Ash, the afternoon sun was
turning a wet world into a sweet-smelling jewel. Diamonds dripped from
her foliage, emerald plumes glistened on every bank, silver lay spilt
upon her soft brown roads. No scent-bag was ever stuffed with such rare
spicery. Out of the dewy soil welled up the fresh clean breath of magic
spikenard, very precious.

Punctually at half-past four we swept up the avenue of poplars that led
to our cousins' house.

The visit had been arranged by Daphne upon the telephone, and Vandy and
his two sisters were ready and waiting....

The _reunion_ was not cordial. Ease and Familiarity were not among the
guests. But it was eminently correct. The most exacting Master of
Ceremonies, the most severe authority upon Etiquette, would have been
satisfied. We were extraordinarily polite. We made engaging
conversation, we begged one another's pardon, we enjoyed one another's
jokes. The dispensation and acceptance of hospitality did the respective
forces infinite credit.

After tea we were taken to see the pictures. Vandy, as showman,
naturally escorted Adele. The rest of us, decently grouped about his
sisters, followed like a party of sightseers in the wake of a verger.

To do our host justice, he knew his own fathers. For what it was worth,
the history of the Pleydell family lay at his fingers' ends. Men,
manners and exploits--he knew them all. Indeed, years ago he had
collected his knowledge and had it published in the form of a book. We
had a copy somewhere.

We were half-way along the gallery, and our cousin was in full blast,
when Adele, to whom he was introducing the portraits with triumphant
unction, started forward with a low cry.

"That's the very man," she exclaimed, pointing at the picture of a
middle-aged gentleman in a plum-coloured coat, which, I seemed to
remember, was unsigned but attributed--without much confidence--to the
brush of Gonzales