At that moment a well remembered voice floated through the open
French window near at hand:

"Then you'll write to the Princess after tea, Alfred? I'll write
to Lady Tadminster for the second day, myself. Or shall we wait
until we hear from the Princess? In case of a refusal, Lady
Tadminster might open it the first day, and Mrs. Crosbie the
second. Then there's the Duchess--about the school fete."

There was the murmur of a man's voice, and then Mrs. Inglethorp's
rose in reply:

"Yes, certainly. After tea will do quite well. You are so
thoughtful, Alfred dear."

The French window swung open a little wider, and a handsome
white-haired old lady, with a somewhat masterful cast of
features, stepped out of it on to the lawn. A man followed her,
a suggestion of deference in his manner.

Mrs. Inglethorp greeted me with effusion.

"Why, if it isn't too delightful to see you again, Mr. Hastings,
after all these years. Alfred, darling, Mr. Hastings--my
husband."

I looked with some curiosity at "Alfred darling". He certainly
struck a rather alien note. I did not wonder at John objecting
to his beard. It was one of the longest and blackest I have ever
seen. He wore gold-rimmed pince-nez, and had a curious