"No, sir," he said—luckily.
"Ah! Was there ever a walnut—I mean was there ever a Mr. Percival who lived here? Ah! Thank you," and I sped down the drive again.
"Well?" said Celia eagerly.
"Mr. Percival doesn't live there."
"Whoever's Mr. Percival?"
"Oh, I forgot; you don't know him. Friends," I added solemnly, "I regret to tell you there is no walnut tree."
"I am not surprised," said Peter.
The walk home was a silent one. For the rest of the day Celia was thoughtful. But at the end of dinner she brightened up a little and joined in the conversation.
"At Hilderton Hall," she said suddenly, "we always——"
"H'r'm," I said, clearing my throat loudly. "Peter, pass Celia the walnuts."