y. I've things to do. Besides some
one's coming to lunch."

He began to feel he had been a fool. The feeling nettled him and he
thought, "Why 'some one'? Dash it, I might be a stranger in the house.
Why doesn't she say who?" And then he thought, "Why should she? This is
just _it_. I'd have heard all about it at breakfast if I'd been decently
communicative."

He said, "Good. Who?"

She took a shallow basket from the shelf. He knew this and the long
scissors for her flower-cutting implements. "Mr. Bagshaw."

And before he could stop himself he had groaned, "Oh, lord!"

She "flew up" and he rushed in tumultuously to make amends for his
blunder and prevent her flying up.

"Mark, I do wish--"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I really am most awfully sorry, Mabel. 'Oh,
lord''s not really profanity. You know it's not. It's just my way--"

"I know that."

But he persevered. "As a matter of fact, it's clear connection of
thought in this case. Bagshaw's a clergyman, and my mind flew instantly
to celestial things."

She did not respond to this. "In any case, I really cannot see why you
should object to Mr. Boom Bagshaw."

"I don't. I don't in the least."

"I've heard you say--often--that he's far and away the best preacher
you've ever heard."

"He is. Absolutely."

"Well, then?"

"It's just his coming to lunch. He's such a terrific talker and you know
I can't stick talkers."

"Yes, that's just why I invite them when you're not here."

He laughed and came across the room towards her impulsively. He was
going to carry this through. "You've got me there. Properly." He took
the basket from her hand. "Come on, we'll cut the flowers. I'll be
absolutely chatty with old Bagshaw."

She smiled and her smile encouraged him tremendously. This was the way
to do it! They went through the glass doors into the garden and he
continued, "Really chatty. I'm going to turn over a new leaf. As a
matter of fact, that's why I came back. I got out of bed the wrong side
this morning, didn't I?"

He felt as he always remembered once feeling as a boy when, after going
to bed, he had come downstairs in his nightshirt and said to his father,
"I say, father, I didn't tell the truth this morning. I had been
smoking." He had never forgotten the enormous relief of that confession,
nor the bliss of his father's, "That's all right, old man. That's fine.
Don't cry, old chap." And he felt precisely that same enormous relief
now.

She said, "Was tha