“I think very likely,” he said soothingly, “we have both exaggerated the seriousness of your father’s hobbies.  We know that he has a wonderful gymnasium there, but the only definite rumour I have ever heard about the place is that men fight there who have a grudge against one another, and that they are not too particular about the weight of the gloves.  That doesn’t appeal to us, you know, Margaret, but it isn’t criminal.”

“If that were all!” she murmured.

“I dare say it is,” he declared.  “London, as you know, is a hot-bed of gossip.  Everything that goes on is ridiculously exaggerated, and I think that it rather appeals to your father’s curious sense of humour to pose as the law-breaker.”

She pressed his arm a little.  The day was overcast, a slight rain was beginning to fall.

“Francis,” she whispered, “we had a perfect day here yesterday.  Now the sun has gone and I am shivery.”

He understood in a moment.

“We’ll lunch at Ranelagh,” he suggested.  “It is almost on the way up.  Then we can see what the weather is like.  If it is bad, we can dine in town tonight and do a theatre.”

“You are a dear,” she told him fervently.  “I am going in to get ready.”

Francis went round to the garage for his car, and brought it to the front.  While he was sitting there, Sir Timothy came through the door in the wall.  He was smoking a cigar and he was holding an umbrella to protect his white flannel suit.  He was as usual wonderfully groomed and turned out, but he walked as though he were tired, and his smile, as he greeted Francis, lacked a little of its usual light-hearted mockery.

“Are you going up to town?” he enquired.

Francis pointed to the grey skies.

“Just for the day,” he answered.  “Lady Cynthia went by the early train.  We missed you last night.”

“I came down late,” Sir Timothy explained, “and I found it more convenient to stay at The Walled House.  I hope you find that Grover looks after you while I am away?  He has carte blanche so far as regards my cellar.”

“We have been wonderfully served,” Francis assured him.

In the distance they could hear the sound of hammering on the other side of the wall.  Francis moved his head in that direction.

“I hear that they are preparing for another of your wonderful entertainments over there,” he remarked.

“On Thursday,” Sir Timothy assented.  “I shall have something to say to you about it later on.”

“Am I to take it that I am likely to receive an invitation?” Francis asked.

“I should think it possible,” was the calm reply.

“What about Margaret?”

“My entertainment would not appeal to her,” Sir Timothy declared.  “The women whom I have been in the habit of asking are not women of Margaret’s type.”

“And Lady Cynthia?”

Sir Timothy frowned slightly.