"And what had she done?" pursued Jenny, full of interest.
"Ah, well, what was the truth about it—who can tell now? It was never important enough to get put on record. But the family tradition is that the Queen was jealous of her place in Leicester's affections." He smiled at Jenny. "I wish Amyas had found you a more acceptable prototype!"
"Oh, I don't know," said Jenny thoughtfully. "I like her looks. Do you believe that what they said was true?"
"I'm sorry to say that, again according to the family tradition, it was."
Our dog-cart had been ready for some minutes. Jenny said good-by, and both father and son escorted her to the door.
"I hope we shall see you at dinner as soon as my sister comes back," said Fillingford, as he helped her to mount into the cart. "We must have a little festivity for Amyas before he joins."
Jenny was all thanks and cordiality, and drove off smiling and waving her hand gayly.
"Isn't that really rather interesting about Eleanor Lacey? Mind you go and see the picture next time you're there! It's really very like."
I promised to see the picture, and asked her how she had got on with Fillingford.
"Oh, I like him well enough, but—" She paused and smiled reflectively. "Down at the Simpsons' there was a certain young man—boy he really was—whom we called Rabbit. That was only because of the shape of his mouth, and has nothing to do with the story! I used sometimes to walk home with Rabbit—from evening church, or lawn-tennis parties, and so on, you know." (Were these the occasions on which she was rather late for supper—without incurring Chat's rebuke?) "We girls used to laugh at him because he always began by taking great pains to show you that he didn't mean to flirt—well, at all events, didn't mean to begin the flirtation. If you wanted to flirt, you must begin yourself—that was Rabbit's attitude, and he made it perfectly plain in his behavior.