“It is Mr. Bomford!” she cried.

Burton sighed—­with relief.

“I am glad to hear that it is human,” he murmured.  “I thought that it was a Wells nightmare or that something from underground had been let loose.”

She shot an indignant glance at him.  Her greeting of Mr. Bomford was almost enough to turn his head.  She held out both her hands.

“My dear Mr.—­my dear Paul!” she exclaimed.  “How glad I am to see you!  Have you motored down?”

“Obviously, my dear, obviously,” the newcomer remarked, removing further portions of his disguise and revealing a middle-aged man of medium height and unimposing appearance, with slight sandy whiskers and moustache.  “A very hot and dusty ride too.  Still, after your father’s message I did not hesitate for a second.  Where is he, Edith?  Have you any idea what it is that he wants?”

She shook her head.

“Did he send for you?” she asked.

“Send for me!” Mr. Bomford repeated.  “I should rather think he did.”

He looked inquiringly towards Burton.  Edith introduced them.

“This,” she said, “is Mr. Burton, a friend of father’s, who is staying with us for a few days.  He is writing a book.  Perhaps, if you are very polite to him, he will let you publish it.  Mr. Bomford—­Mr. Burton.”

The two men shook hands solemnly.  Neither of them expressed any pleasure at the meeting.

“I am sure you would like a drink,” Edith suggested.  “Let me take you up to the house and we can find father.  You won’t mind, Mr. Burton?”

“Not in the least,” he assured her.

They disappeared into the house.  Burton threw himself once more upon the lawn, his hands clasped behind his head, gazing upwards through the leafy boughs to the blue sky.  So this was Mr. Bomford!  This was the rival of whom he had heard!  Not so very formidable a person, not formidable at all save for one thing only—­he was free to marry her, free to marry Edith.  Burton lay and dreamed in the sunshine.  A thrush came out and sang to him.  A west wind brought him wafts of perfume from the gardens below.  The serenity of the perfect afternoon mocked his disturbed frame of mind.  What was the use of it all?  The longer he remained here the more abject he became! . . .  Suddenly Edith reappeared alone.  She came across the lawn to him with a slight frown upon her forehead.  He lay there and watched her until the last moment.  Then he rose and dragged out a chair for her.

“So the lovers’ interview is over!” he ventured to observe.  “You do not seem altogether transported with delight.”

“I am very much pleased indeed to see Mr. Bomford,” she assured him.

“I,” he murmured, “am glad that I have seen him.”

Edith looked at him covertly.

“I do not think,” she said, “that I quite approve of your tone this afternoon.”

“I am quite sure,” he retorted, “that I do not approve of yours.”