onal effects were subjected to a similar scrutiny and partial
destruction. Nothing was left to chance. If George was uncertain,
Betty and Anne were sent for. If no one could be sure, whatever it
was, the article in question went to the furnace. Never was the
high-road of convalescence more faithfully reconnoitred.

Less actively, Lady Touchstone and Forest contributed according to
their means. These were substantial. The electric personality of the
one, the gentle charm of the other, were better than physic. The one
stimulated; the other composed. A twinkling hour of Lady Touchstone's
company was like a glass of champagne. A talk with the Monseigneur
rivalled the quality of old Madeira. Wisely administered, the wine
built up the wasted tissues of the mind. The latter's digestion being
sound, Lyveden throve upon the diet. His brain put on weight daily.

So far as his body was concerned, no one had any anxiety at all.
Anthony's fine constitution and the open-air life which he had led at
Gramarye stood him in splendid stead. So much so, that when, upon St.
George's Day, Patch came trotting with a red rose in his mouth, he
found the bed empty and his master sitting cheerfully upon a sofa
before the fuss and worry of a bright wood fire. It was clear that a
new era had begun. Patch dropped the rose and fairly hurled himself at
a small log lying conveniently in a corner beside an old _prie-Dieu_.

* * * * *

A mischievous look came into Valerie's eyes.

"You haven't heard a word," she said, bubbling, "of what I've been
saying. You know you haven't."

Anthony laughed guiltily.

"Yes, I have," he protested. "You were saying you'd half a mind to
give up having hydrangeas and--and--er--not have them at all," he
concluded lamely.

Valerie uttered a little crow of triumph.

"Scandalous," she said. "Simply scandalous. It's no good pretending.
I know perfectly well what you were thinking about. You were thinking
of Gramarye. That old dream of yours ..."

Mark, sirs, how the mighty may fall and how familiarity may breed
contempt. Gramarye had lost her sting. Spoiled of her puissance, she
had sunk to the level of "Boney"--fare for the ears of children, food
for a jest.

"No, I wasn't," said Anthony, smiling. "At least, not directly. I was
thinking of an argument the Monseigneur put up about my dream."

"What did he say?"

"Well, his contention was this. You know, if, fo