“Oh, are you?  Does Miss Larpent like that idea?” Faint surprise sounded in Sheila’s tone.

“I don’t know why she shouldn’t,” said Bunny, quick to detect it.  “She’s keen on the country, keen on riding and so on.  She’d hate to live in town.”

“Would she?” said Sheila, with a hint of incredulity.

Bunny turned on her.  “Why do you say that?  She’s very young, hardly more than a kid.  She doesn’t care for people and towns.  Why should she?”

He put the question almost indignantly, and Sheila smiled at him pacifically.  “I don’t know in the least why she should.  I only had a sort of idea that she might.  She is very pretty, isn’t she?  And pretty girls don’t generally care to be buried before they have had their fling—­not always then.”

“Oh, you think she doesn’t get any fun!” said Bunny, still somewhat resentful.

“No—­no, of course I don’t!  You know best what she likes.  I only wonder that Maud didn’t think of giving her just one season in town.  It would be rather good for her, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” said Bunny rather shortly.  “Maud isn’t keen on town.  I think she’s better where she is.”

Sheila laughed.  “You’re afraid she’d slip through your fingers if she saw too much of the world?”

“No, I’m not!” declared Bunny, frowning.  “I hadn’t thought about it.  But I’d hate her to get old and sophisticated.  Her great charm is in being—­just what she is.”

“Oh, she has plenty of charm,” Sheila admitted, and her own brows drew a little in thought.  “I wish I could remember who it is she reminds me of.  That is the worst of having such a large circle.”

“She isn’t like anyone I’ve ever met,” declared Bunny, and gulped down his drink abruptly.  “Well, I must be going.  You’ll come up to-morrow then, you and the General.  I shall be there, and I’ll tell Maud you’re coming.”

“You are sure we had better come?” Sheila said, as she gave him her hand.

He gripped it.  “Of course!  Maud will be delighted.  I’m sorry you weren’t asked before.  About three then—­if that suits you!  Good-bye!”

He smiled his pleasant, boyish smile, and departed.

But as he raced back from Fairharbour in his little two-seater car to meet his young fiancee on the downs, the memory of Sheila’s word came back to him and he frowned again.  It was true that they were not thinking of marriage for the next few months, and their plans were still somewhat vague, but the idea of waiting while Toby had her fling for a whole season in town revolted him.  He could not have said definitely wherefore, save that he wanted to keep her just as she was in his eyes—­fresh and young and innocent.  He was angry with Sheila for having suggested it, and he wanted to thrust the matter from his mind.

Yet when he found himself alone with Toby, walking along the brow of the furze-strewn down, he attacked the subject with characteristic directness.