After they had all gone into the dining-room, and had sorted themselves out, the guest being seated on her host’s right, with Jack on the other side of her, Janet announced:  “This is supper, not dinner, Mrs. Crofton.  I hope you don’t mind lobster?  When I first came to Old Place, almost the first thing I learnt was that it was celebrated for its lobster pie!  Since the War we have not been able to afford lobsters, but a kind friend sent us six from Littlehampton yesterday, so I at once thought of our dear old lobster pie!”

Mrs. Crofton declared that, far from minding, she adored lobsters!  And then after she had been served, Timmy’s fears were set at rest, for his mother, very improperly the rest of the family thought, served him next, and to a generous helping.

As the meal went on, the mistress of Old Place realised that she had made one mistake about Mrs. Crofton; their visitor was far more intelligent, though in a mean, rather narrow way, than she had at first supposed.  Also, Mrs. Crofton was certainly very attractive.  As the talk turned to London doings, his step-mother was amused to notice that Jack was becoming interested in their guest, and eagerly discussed with her a play they had both seen.

And the visitor herself?  During supper she began to feel most pleasantly at home, and when she walked into the long, high-ceilinged sitting-room, which had such a cosy, homelike look she told herself that it was no wonder Godfrey Radmore liked the delightful old house, and these kindly, old-fashioned, and—­and unsuspicious people.

Two tall Argand lamps cast a soft radiance over the shabby furniture and faded carpet.  It was a lovely evening, a true St. Martin’s summer night, and the middle one of the three long French windows was widely open on to the fragrant, scented garden.

Mrs. Crofton, a graceful, appealing figure in her soft, black chiffon gown, hesitated a moment—­she wondered where they wanted her to sit?  And then Mrs. Tosswill came forward and, taking her hand, led her to the big sofa, while one of the girls fetched an extra cushion so that she might sit back comfortably.  The talk drifted to the War, and Enid Crofton was soon engaged in giving an animated account of some of her own experiences—­how she had managed to spend a very exciting fortnight not far from the Front, in a hospital run by a great lady with whom she had a slight acquaintance.  Soon, sooner than usual, Mr. Tosswill and his three sons came into the drawing-room, and they were all talking and laughing together happily when a most unlucky, and untoward, accident happened!  Timmy’s dog, Flick, having somehow escaped from the stable, suddenly ran in from the dark garden, straight through the window opposite the sofa round which the whole of the party was now gathered together.  When about a yard from Mrs. Crofton, he stopped dead, and emitted a series of short, wild howls, while his hair bristled and stood on end, and his eyes flamed blood red.