no sign of life about. The air was moist, heavy, and filled with the honeyed smell of the locust flowers. The lake lay still as molten lead, following the hot exuberance of sunset.
The 'bus rattled away. Derek sent Snailem to the kitchen to report to Mrs. Machin. Then he turned to Mrs. Windmill. "Don't you think it would be best," he said, "for you to wait here a bit? I'll find your husband and send him to you." She assented, and he went through the house to the kitchen.
He found Snailem and Mrs. Machin there, she regarding him as he stood before her, with the ironical grin of an old spider who had just caught a stupid fly in her web . . . not the sort of fly she fancied but one which nevertheless had to be demolished.
"Where is Windmill?" demanded Derek.
"He ain't here," replied Mrs. Machin, "that's all I know about him. He went out half an hour ago, slicked up like a city feller."
"I must send Hugh to find him. His wife is here. I don't want her to see him perhaps with Miss Carss. I'd better fetch her in."
"His wife?" Mrs. Machin's grin broadened. "Well, he kep' it mighty quiet. Here's a pretty kettle of fish. Fool!"
Phœbe dashed in from the outer kitchen followed by Hugh.
"Hugh," began Derek, "go over to Mr. Jerrold's—"
"Ow!" cried Phœbe, "there's a norful scene on the bluffs! Windmill and Miss Carss, and a woman in high-strikes. Come along out!"
They hurried to the flagged yard. On the bluffs they could see Windmill outlined against the sky, and beside him the tall figure of Miss Carss, her long veil fluttering in a freshly sprung breeze. Climbing towards them up the side of the bluff was the wife, her hat fallen back, her arms
