'Of course I have. I notice every'
'Oh,' she went on hurriedly. 'We had it for the village cantata last winter—"The Brides of Enderby."'
'No! "High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire." For some reason Midmore spoke sharply.
'Just like that.' She pointed to the befouled walls. 'I say. . . . Let's get this furniture a little straight. . . . You know it too?'
'Every word, since you sang it, of course.'
'When?'
'The first night I ever came down. You rode past the drawing-room window in the dark singing it—"And sweeter woman"
'I thought the house was empty then. Your aunt always let us use that short cut. Ha-hadn't we better get this out into the passage? It'll all have to come out anyhow. You take the other side.' They began to lift a heavyish table. Their words came jerkily between gasps and their faces were as white as—a newly washed and very hungry pig.
'Look out!' Midmore shouted. His legs were whirled from under him, as the table, grunting madly, careened and knocked the girl out of sight.
The wild boar of Asia could not have cut down a couple more scientifically, but this little pig lacked his ancestor's nerve and fled shrieking over their bodies.
'Are you hurt, darling?' was Midmore's first word, and 'No—I'm only winded—dear,' was Miss Sperrit's, as he lifted her out of her corner,
