taring, when--

"Let me introduce Mr. Every--Major Lyveden," said Valerie. The two men
nodded mechanically and murmured politeness. "Yes, you did, Peter.
Here you are." She plucked the lost property from the bowels of the
seat and rose to restore it. "By the way," she added adroitly, "now's
your chance. Major Lyveden'll tell you whether you ought to wash a
horse's legs."

Thus appealed to--

"Unless," said Anthony, "you've got a groom in a million, I shouldn't
advise it. It means mud-fever."

"There you are," said Valerie, doubly triumphant.

The youth's face was a study. Respect was fairly bundling Astonishment
out of the way. Anthony had spoken as one having authority, and Every
was visibly impressed.

"You really think so, sir?"

With one accord Valerie and Anthony smiled. The employment of the
title was at once so irregular and so appropriate. Instinct had shown
herself to be above raiment. Surely no manner of man ever was paid so
exquisite a compliment.

A motor-horn coughed, and Anthony glanced over his shoulder. Then--

"I must go," he said quietly. "Good-bye."

He touched his cap with a smile and left them. Every gazed after him
with his hat in his hand. Then he looked at Valerie with wide eyes.

"But--but he's a footman," he said stupidly.

* * * * *

When upon the following day Anthony admitted that he had never seen the
view from The Beacon, the Alisons, all three, cried out upon the
omission with no uncertain voice.

The four were breakfasting.

"But," declared Anne, "you simply must see it. It's the most wonderful
view in the world."

Anthony doubted this. He did not say so, of course, but he would have
staked a month's wages that he could have shown them a finer. As it
was, he expressed politely enthusiastic astonishment.

"It is, really," said Betty. "And the tints at this time of year--why,
even George raves about it!"

"That's right," said her husband. "Never lose an opportunity of
insult. Why 'even George'? Can't a chauffeur have a soul?"

"Who went to sleep at the Russian Ballet?" said Betty.

"Go on," said George. "Rake over the muck-heap. And what if I did?
The music suggested slumber. I merely adopted the suggestion."

"Did it also suggest that you should snore?" said his wife. "Or was
that your own idea?"

George touched Anthony on the arm and nodded towards the speaker.

"Look at the scorn in that eye," he said. "S