"That's a candid avowal," observed her ladyship, dryly, as Celia laughed.
They chatted in this pleasant fashion, and, in due course, reached the Grange. It was quite a merry little lunch, through which Reggie talked incessantly, to the increased amusement of his good-natured hostess, and confirming her good opinion of him.
"Now, you two children can go and sit on the terrace while I have my nap. Wiggins, give Mr. Rex a cigar."
The two went out on the terrace; and scarcely waiting for him to light a cigar, Celia demanded "his story."
"Oh, well; I've had a stroke of luck," he said, with a long breath. "And it's all owing to you."
"To me!"
"Yes. You remember that 'short' I sent you? But, of course, you don't."
"Oh, yes, I do," Celia assured him. "It was an awfully good story."
"Well, backed up by all the fine things you said, I sent it to the editor of the Piccadilly Magazine. He accepted it—perhaps he wasn't well at the time—and more than that, he sent for me. I thought, perhaps, he wanted to shoot me; but, bless you, no! He liked the thing so much that he commissioned me to write a 'long, complete,' twenty thousand words; so I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone, run down into the country for a holiday and business combined. But, look here, before I say another word, you've got to tell me what you're doing here."
Celia told him as briefly as she could.