It was the first time that Zora had heard the note of depression.

“Now that you are here, you must stay for a breathing space,” she said kindly.  “You must forget it, put it out of your mind, take a holiday.  Strong as you are, you are not cast iron, and if you broke down, think what a disaster it would be for the Cure.”

“Will you help me to have a holiday?”

She laughed.  “To the best of my ability—­and provided you don’t want to make me shock Nunsmere too much.”

He waved his hand in the direction of the village and said, Napoleonically: 

“I’ll look after Nunsmere.  I have the motor here.  We can go all over the country.  Will you come?”

“On one condition.”

“And that?”

“That you won’t spread the Cure among our Surrey villages, and that you’ll talk of something else all the time.”

He rose and put out his hand.  “I accept,” he cried frankly.  “I’m not a fool.  I know you’re right.  When are you coming to see Penton Court?  I will give a housewarming You say that Dix has settled down here.  I’ll look him up.  I’ll be glad to see the muddle-headed seraph again.  I’ll ask him to come, too, so there will be you and he—­and perhaps your sister will honor me, and your mother, Mrs. Oldrieve?”

“Mother doesn’t go out much nowadays,” said Zora.  “But Emmy will no doubt be delighted to come.”

“I have a surprise for you,” said Sypher.  “It’s a brilliant idea—­have had it in my head for months—­you must tell me what you think of it.”

The entrance of Mrs. Oldrieve and Emmy put an end to further talk of an intimate nature, and as Mrs. Oldrieve preferred the simple graces of stereotyped conversation, the remainder of Sypher’s visit was uneventful.  When he had taken his leave she remarked that he seemed to be a most superior person.

“I’m so glad he has made a good impression on mother,” said Zora afterwards.

“Why?” asked Emmy.

“It’s only natural that I should be glad.”

“Oho!” said Emmy.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing, dear.”

“Look here, Emmy,” said Zora, half laughing, half angry.  “If you say or think such a thing I’ll—­I’ll slap you.  Mr. Sypher and I are friends.  He hasn’t the remotest idea of our being anything else.  If he had, I would never speak to him again as long as I live.”

Emmy whistled a comedy air, and drummed on the window-pane.

“He’s a very remarkable man,” said Zora.

“A most superior person,” mimicked Emmy.

“And I don’t think it’s very good taste in us to discuss him in this manner.”

“But, my dear,” said Emmy, “it’s you that are discussing him.  I’m not.  The only remark I made about him was a quotation from mother.”

“I’m going up to dress for dinner,” said Zora.

She was just a little indignant.  Only into Emmy’s fluffy head could so preposterous an idea have entered.  Clem Sypher in love with her?  If so, why not Septimus Dix?  The thing thus reduced itself to an absurdity.  She laughed to herself, half ashamed of having allowed Emmy to see that she took her child’s foolishness seriously, and came down to dinner serene and indulgent.