nce that he did not like her--that she looked "a muff".
It distressed him to think that his hero should be a friend of this
weak-looking, sly little thing--for so he uncompromisingly described Enid
Crofton to himself.

Hostess and guest sat down on the big, roomy sofa, while Timmy moved
away and opened a book. He was afraid lest his mother should invite him
to leave the room, for he wanted to hear what they were saying. Timmy
always enjoyed hearing grown-up people's conversation, especially when
they had forgotten that he was present. All at once his sharp ears heard
Mrs. Crofton's low, melodious voice asking the question he had been
half-expecting her to ask: "Do you expect Mr. Radmore soon?"

"Yes, he's coming down on Friday." There was a pause, then Timmy heard
his mother say: "Have you known Godfrey Radmore long?"

Janet really wanted to know. Somehow, she found it difficult to imagine
a friendship between Godfrey and this little fribble of a woman. But as
to that, Janet Tosswill showed less than her usual intelligence. She
still thought of Godfrey Radmore as of the rather raw, awkward, though
clear-headed and determined lad of twenty-three--the Radmore, that is,
of nine years ago.

"My husband and I first met him in Egypt," said Mrs. Crofton
hesitatingly. The delicate colour in her cheeks deepened. "One day he
began to talk about himself, and he told me about Beechfield, what a
beautiful village it was, how devoted he was to you all!"

Janet Tosswill glanced at the clock. "It's already five minutes past
eight!" she exclaimed. "I must go and hurry my young people--their father
likes them to be absolutely punctual. The gong will go in a minute."

After his mother had left the room, Timmy crept up close to the sofa,
and so suddenly appeared, standing with his hands behind his back, before
the visitor. She felt just a little startled; she had not known the
strange-looking boy was still there. Then she told herself quickly that
this surely must be Godfrey Radmore's godson--the child to whom he had
sent one of her late husband's puppies.

There came over pretty Mrs. Crofton a slight feeling of apprehension and
discomfiture--she could not have told why.

"When did you last see my godfather?" he asked abruptly, in an unchildish
voice, and with a quaintly grown-up manner.

"Your godfather?" she repeated hesitatingly, and yet she knew quite well
who he meant.

"I mean Major Radmore," he explained.

She wondered