that till chapter fifteen. Listen: 'Far as the eye could stretch rolled
the mauve and purple billows of heather, lit up here and there with the
glowing yellow of gorse and broom, and edged round with the delicate
greys and silver and green of the young birch trees. Tiny blue and brown
butterflies fluttered above the fronds of heather, revelling in the
sunlight, and overhead the larks were singing as only larks can sing. It
was a day when all Nature--"

"In _Right Here_ you have full information on all branches of Nature
study," broke in the bookagent, with a tired note sounding in his voice
for the first time; "forestry, insect life, bird migration, reclamation
of waste lands. As I was saying, no man who has to deal with the varied
interests of life--"

"I wonder if you would care for one of my earlier books, _The Reluctance
of Lady Cullumpton_," said Mellowkent, hunting again through the
bookshelf; "some people consider it my best novel. Ah, here it is. I
see there are one or two spots on the cover, so I won't ask more than
three-and-ninepence for it. Do let me read you how it opens:

"'Beatrice Lady Cullumpton entered the long, dimly-lit drawing-room, her
eyes blazing with a hope that she guessed to be groundless, her lips
trembling with a fear that she could not disguise. In her hand she
carried a small fan, a fragile toy of lace and satinwood. Something
snapped as she entered the room; she had crushed the fan into a dozen
pieces.'

"There, what do you think of that for an opening? It tells you at once
that there's something afoot."