I never knew you were Pendragon till I saw that the Arms on the archway were the same as those on your ring. I ought to have realized then that you knew your job, but the dismissal of Warthog stuck in my throat. It never occurred to me that he was a rogue.
Your self-indignation the other evening was priceless. I loved it. I had to join in, of course, but I didn’t mean all I said.
Please may I see the Manor House again? Last time I was rather preoccupied. Will you take me there this evening, and tell me if I may tell Sundial the truth and say that the Lord of the Manor will be in his family pew on Sunday morning?
Audrey.
It was the quiet hour.
The sun had just gone down, and the broad terrace was flushed with a rosy pride: the aged giants upon the lawn stood up like gentlemen-at-arms, majestic monuments of silence; the sweet air was breathless. Somewhere a wood-pigeon was chanting the ritual of Peace.
“May I tell Sundial?” said Audrey.
“Yes.”
“And will you be in your pew on Sunday morning?”