ovely!"

"Yes, but you should have smelt the lilac. He was just perfumed to
death. If he isn't careful, one of these days he'll get picked."

"One of the old school, in fact. Well, well...." We swept round a
corner, and I nodded ahead. "See that ridge in front of us? Well, that's
Fallow Hill. The village lies close, just on the other side."

"What are you going to do with the car?" said Adele.

"They'll let me lock her up--don't be shocked--at the brewery. I know
them there."

"You'll admit it sounds bad."

"Yes, but it smells lovely. You wait. For that reason alone, I should
vote against Prohibition. The honest scent of brewing, stealing across
the meadows on a summer eve, is one of the most inspiring things I
know."

"But what a man!" said Adele. "'Books in the running brooks, _Virtue in
vats_, and good in everything.' Nobby," she added reproachfully, "why
didn't you tell me he was a poet?" The Sealyham put his head on one
side, as if desiring her to repeat the question. "Oh, you cute thing!"
And, with that, my lady bent and kissed the terrier between the bright
brown eyes.

I put the wheel over hard, and the car swerved violently.

"For Heaven's sake!" cried Miss Feste. "What are you doing?"

"It's your fault," said I. "I'm only human. Besides, he doesn't deserve
it."

Adele flung me a dazzling smile, made as though she would say something,
and then, apparently changing her mind, relapsed into a provoking
silence....

A quarter of an hour later the Rolls had been safely bestowed at the
brewery, and my companion and I were making our way amusedly past booths
and tents and caravans, where chapmen, hucksters, drovers, cheapjacks,
gipsies and bawling showmen wrangled and chaffered and cried their wares
or entertainments, making with the crude music of the merry-go-rounds
much the same good-humoured uproar which had been faithfully rendered at
the village of Fallow Hill every September for the last five hundred
years.

"Blessings on your sweet pretty face, my lady!" cried an old voice.

We turned to see a very old gipsy, seated a little apart upon a backless
chair, nodding and smiling in our direction.

Adele inclined her head, and I slid a hand into my pocket.

"Come hither to me, my lady," piped the old dame, "and let your man
cross my old palm with silver, and I'll tell you your fortune. Ah, but
you have a happy face."

Adele looked at me, and I nodded.

"They're a good folk," I said, "and you'l