a shady tree, and putting a
bottle of Graves to cool in a neighbouring brook. Meanwhile Molly was
doing mysterious things with her chafing-dish and several little china
jars. By the time Jack and I had with awkward alacrity bestowed
plates, glasses, knives, and forks on the most hummocky portions of
the cloth, white and rosy flakes of lobster _a la_ Newburg were
simmering appetisingly in a creamy froth.

I was deeply interested in this cult of the chafing-dish, which could,
in an incredibly short time, serve up by the wayside a little feast
fit for a king--who had not got dyspepsia.

"Can't you imagine the programme if we had gone to an inn?" asked
Jack, proud of his bride's handiwork. "We should have walked into a
dingy dining-room, with brown wallpaper and four steel engravings of
bloodthirsty scenes from the Old Testament. A sleepy head waiter would
have looked at me with a polite but puzzled expression, as if at a
loss to know why on earth we had come. I should have enquired
deprecatingly: 'What can you give us for lunch?' What would he have
replied?"

"There's only one possible answer to that conundrum, and it doesn't
take any guessing," said I. "The reply would have been: 'Cold 'am or
beef, sir; chops, if you choose to wait.' Those words are probably now
being spoken to some hundreds of sad travellers less fortunate than
our favoured and sylvan selves."

"If you would like to have a chafing-dish in your family," remarked
Jack, "you'll have to marry an American girl."

"I'm no Duke," said I.

"Earls aren't to be despised, if there are no Dukes handy," said
Molly. "Besides, it's getting a little obvious to marry a Duke."

"Which is the reason you took up with a chauffeur," retorted Jack.

"You call yourself a 'penniless hearl,'" went on Molly, "and I
suppose, of course, you are 'belted.' All earls are, in poetry and
serials, which must be convenient when you're _really_ very poor,
because if you're hungry, you can always take a reef in your belt,
while mere plain men have no such resource. Have you got yours on
now?"

"It's in pawn," said I. "It's no joke about being penniless. Jack
will tell you I'm obliged to let my dear old house in Oxfordshire, and
the only luxuries I can afford are a few horses and a few books. I
prefer them to necessities--since I can't have both."

I thought that Molly might laugh, but instead she looked abnormally
grave. "Jack told me," she said, "how, when you and he came over