Shortly after this the game came somehow to an end. I do not
understand the intricacies of croquet. But Phyllis did something
brilliant and remarkable with the balls, and we adjourned for tea. The
sun was setting as I left to return to the farm, with Aunt Elizabeth
stored neatly in a basket in my hand. The air was deliciously cool,
and full of that strange quiet which follows soothingly on the skirts
of a broiling midsummer afternoon. Far away, seeming to come from
another world, a sheep-bell tinkled, deepening the silence. Alone in a
sky of the palest blue there gleamed a small, bright star.

I addressed this star.

"She was certainly very nice to me. Very nice indeed." The star said
nothing.

"On the other hand, I take it that, having had a decent up-bringing,
she would have been equally polite to any other man whom she had
happened to meet at her father's house. Moreover, I don't feel
altogether easy in my mind about that naval chap. I fear the worst."

The star winked.

"He calls her Phyllis," I said.

"Charawk!" chuckled Aunt Elizabeth from her basket, in that beastly
cynical, satirical way which has made her so disliked by all right-
thinking people.