There was no "Cook's homme" to save Simpson this time. But he rose to the
occasion nobly. The scent of the mimosa inspired him.

"_Merci,"_ he said, "_merci. Oui, n'est ce pas_! Delightful. Er--these
are--_ces sont mes amis_. Er--Dahlia, come along--er, _Monsieur et Madame
Mannering_--er--Myra, _la soeur de Monsieur_--er--where are you, old
chap?--_le mari de la soeur de Monsieur._ Er--Thomas--er--" (he was
carried away by memories of his schoolboy French), "_le frère du
jardinier_--er--" He wheeled round and saw me; introduced me again;
introduced Myra as my wife, Archie as her brother, and Dahlia as Archie's
wife; and then with a sudden inspiration presented Thomas grandly as "_le
beau-père du petit fils de mes amis Monsieur et Madame Mannering_."
Thomas seemed more assured of his place as Peter's godfather than as the
brother of the gardener.

There were four ladies; we shook hands with all of them. It took us a
long time, and I doubt if we got it all in even so, for twice I found
myself shaking hands with Simpson. But these may have been additional
ones thrown in. It was over at last, and we followed the staff indoors.

And then we had another surprise. It was broken to us by Dahlia, who, at
Simpson's urgent request, took up the position of lady of the house, and
forthwith received the flowing confidences of the housekeeper.

"Two of us have to sleep outside," she said.

"Where?" we all asked blankly.

We went on to the loggia again, and she pointed to a little house almost
hidden by olive-trees in a corner of the garden below us.