In the midst of my entertainment I remembered that I had not telephoned to White Ladies, but the servant sent to make the connection was informed by the Exchange that the line was out of order.

“I expect it’s fused,” said I.  “With Berry at one end and that station sergeant at the other, the strain must have been fearful.”

* * * * *

It was half-past two before we were once more in the car.  On the back seat sat the Deriots’ chauffeur, holding a spare wheel between his knees.

It did not take us long to reach the barn, and, so soon as we had once more unearthed the farmer, authorized him to suffer the chauffeur to remove the two-seater, and discharged our debt for “accommodation,” I turned the Rolls round and headed for White Ladies.

“She’s certainly a beautiful car,” said Agatha, as the Rolls sailed up a treacherously steep gradient on top.  “It’s like being in a lift.”

“And, but for you, we might never have seen her again.  Shall I give you a stamp album, or would you like to drive?”

“D’you really mean that?” said Miss Deriot.

I shot her a glance.  There was no mistaking the eagerness of her parted lips and the sparkle of her gay brown eyes.  By way of replying I brought the car to a standstill.  A moment later we had changed places.

“It’s awfully kind of you,” said Agatha delightedly, as she let in the clutch.  “I’ve always wanted to drive a Rolls.  I hope I shan’t hurt her.”

“You’ll do her good,” said I.  “I watched you in the two-seater.  You’ve got beautiful hands.”

“Thank you, Boy.”

“Now you shall have a stamp album as well.  Go carefully here.  There used to be a wasps’ nest in that bank, but it’s closed now, same as the German banks.  What a war!”

“But I don’t collect stamps.”

“Then she shall have a dog.  What about a Sealyham to sleep on your bed and bite the postman?”

“I’d love one,” said Agatha.

“And you’ll sit up in bed in the morning, with your hair all about your eyes, and smile at him, and he’ll growl back at you—­I can just see you.”

“Thanks awfully.  But you’re wrong about my hair.”

“Is it never unruly?”

“Only by day.  I wish to goodness I could wear it down.”

“So do I. Then we could all sit on it when the grass was wet.  At the moment there’s a particularly beautiful tress caressing your left shoulder.  And I think you ought to know that the wind is kissing it quite openly.  It’s all very embarrassing.  I hope I shan’t catch it,” I added cheerfully.

Miss Deriot made a supreme effort to look severe.

“If you do,” she said uncertainly, “I shall drive straight into the horse-pond.”

“’Sh!” said I reprovingly.  “You oughtn’t to jest about such things.  You might catch it yourself.  Easily.”  Here we passed the horse-pond.  “You know you’ll never be able to look fierce so long as you have that dimple.  You’ll have to fill it up or something.  I suppose it’s full of dew every morning now.”