She nodded.

I sighed. Then--

"Up to now I've been feeling like a large brandy and a small soda," I
said. "Now I feel like a sonnet. What is your name, and who gave you
that name?"

"I'm sure that's not necessary. I've seen a sonnet 'To a lady upon her
birthday.'"

"As you please. Shall I post it to you or pin it to a tree in Battersea
Park?"

Miss Childe nodded her head in the direction in which we were going.

"That," she said, "is the house."

At the end of a long avenue of elms I could see the bold flash of
windows which the afternoon sun had set afire, and a moment later we
swept by the front of an old red mansion and round into a paved court
that lay on its farther side.

Here was a door open, and in front of this my companion brought the car
to a standstill.

I handed her out. She rang the bell and entered. I followed her in.

"Like to look round the house?" said Miss Childe. "We've given up