A gate in a beech hedge, reached across triple lawns, let them
out before tea-time into the unkempt south side of their land.

"I want your hand, please," said Sophie as soon as they were safe
among the beech boles and the lawless hollies. "D'you remember
the old maid in 'Providence and the Guitar' who heard the
Commissary swear, and hardly reckoned herself a maiden lady
afterward? Because I'm a relative of hers. Lady Conant is--"

"Did you find out anything about the Lashmars?" he interrupted.

"I didn't ask. I'm going to write to Aunt Sydney about it first.
Oh, Lady Conant said something at lunch about their having bought
some land from some Lashmars a few years ago. I found it was at
the beginning of last century."

"What did you say?"

"I said, 'Really, how interesting!' Like that. I'm not going to
push myself forward. I've been hearing about Mr. Sangres's
efforts in that direction. And you? I couldn't see you behind the
flowers. Was it very deep water, dear?"

George mopped a brow already browned by outdoor exposures.

"Oh no--dead easy," he answered. "I've bought Friars Pardon to
prevent Sir Walter's birds straying."

A cock pheasant scuttered through the dry leaves and exploded
almost under their feet. Sophie jumped.