"Strangers?"

"Well, nearly--but I think you've seen them. You know that lady and her
daughters who came to White Cottage about two years ago?"

"A Mrs. Penfold?"

"Just so. I told you I met them--in April, when you were abroad--at the
Hunt Ball. But--well, really, I've met them several times since. The
Deacons know them." The slight consciousness in the voice did not escape
his mother. "You know you've never called on them. Mother, you are
disgraceful about calling! Well, I met them again this afternoon, just
the other side of Whitebeck. They were in a pony-carriage, and I was in
the motor. It's a jolly afternoon, and they didn't seem to have anything
particular to do, so I just asked them to come on here, and have tea, and
we'd show them the place."

"All right, dear. I'll bear up. Do you think they'll come?"

"Well, I don't know," said her son dubiously. "You see--I think Miss
Penfold thought you ought to have called on them before they came here!
But Mrs. Penfold's a nice old thing--she _said_ they'd come."

"Well, there's plenty of tea, and I'll go and call if you want me to."

"How many years?" laughed Tatham. "I remember somebody you took eight
years to call on, and when you got there you'd forgotten their names."

"Pure invention. Never mind, sit down and have your tea. How many
daughters?"