summer afternoon, working leisurely and spattering with half-intellectual, deliberate talk.

Suddenly there was the sound of the brakes and the shutting off of a motor-car.

‘There’s Salsie!’ sang Hermione, in her slow, amusing sing-song. And laying down her work, she rose slowly, and slowly passed over the lawn, round the bushes, out of sight.

‘Who is it?’ asked Gudrun.

‘Mr Roddice — Miss Roddice’s brother — at least, I suppose it’s he,’ said Sir Joshua.

‘Salsie, yes, it is her brother,’ said the little Contessa, lifting her head for a moment from her book, and speaking as if to give information, in her slightly deepened, guttural English.