“But I don’t think you do your heroines well.  I have just got ’The Outsider—­’ " (My other novel.  Bastable & Kirby, 6s.  Satirical.  All about Society—­of which I know less than I know about chicken-farming.  Slated by Times and Spectator.  Well received by London Mail and Winning Post)—­“and,” continued Phyllis, “Lady Maud is exactly the same as Pamela in the ‘Manoeuvres of Arthur.’  I thought you must have drawn both characters from some one you knew.”

“No,” I said.  “No.  Purely imaginary.”

“I am so glad,” said Phyllis.

And then neither of us seemed to have anything to say.  My knees began to tremble.  I realised that the moment had arrived when my fate must be put to the touch; and I feared that the moment was premature.  We cannot arrange these things to suit ourselves.  I knew that the time was not yet ripe; but the magic scent of the yellow lupin was too much for me.

“Miss Derrick,” I said hoarsely.

Phyllis was looking with more intentness than the attractions of the flower justified at a rose she held in her hand.  The bee hummed in the lupin.

“Miss Derrick,” I said, and stopped again.

“I say, you people,” said a cheerful voice, “tea is ready.  Hullo, Garnet, how are you?  That medal arrived yet from the Humane Society?”

I spun round.  Mr. Tom Chase was standing at the end of the path.  The only word that could deal adequately with the situation slapped against my front teeth.  I grinned a sickly grin.

“Well, Tom,” said Phyllis.

And there was, I thought, just the faintest tinkle of annoyance in her voice.

* * * * *

“I’ve been bathing,” said Mr. Chase, a propos des bottes.

“Oh,” I replied.  “And I wish,” I added, “that you’d drowned yourself.”

But I added it silently to myself.

CHAPTER XIII

TEA AND TENNIS

“Met the professor’s late boatman on the Cob,” said Mr. Chase, dissecting a chocolate cake.

“Clumsy man,” said Phyllis.  “I hope he was ashamed of himself.  I shall never forgive him for trying to drown papa.”

My heart bled for Mr. Henry Hawk, that modern martyr.

“When I met him,” said Tom Chase, “he looked as if he had been trying to drown his sorrow as well.”

“I knew he drank,” said Phyllis severely, “the very first time I saw him.”

“You might have warned the professor,” murmured Mr. Chase.

“He couldn’t have upset the boat if he had been sober.”

“You never know.  He may have done it on purpose.”

“Tom, how absurd.”

“Rather rough on the man, aren’t you?” I said.

“Merely a suggestion,” continued Mr. Chase airily.  “I’ve been reading sensational novels lately, and it seems to me that Mr. Hawk’s cut out to be a minion.  Probably some secret foe of the professor’s bribed him.”