"Up to now I've been feeling like a large brandy and a small soda," I said. "Now I feel like a sonnet. What is your name, and who gave you that name?"
"I'm sure that's not necessary. I've seen a sonnet 'To a lady upon her birthday.'"
"As you please. Shall I post it to you or pin it to a tree in Battersea Park?"
Miss Childe nodded her head in the direction in which we were going.
"That," she said, "is the house."
At the end of a long avenue of elms I could see the bold flash of windows which the afternoon sun had set afire, and a moment later we swept by the front of an old red mansion and round into a paved court that lay on its farther side.
Here was a door open, and in front of this my companion brought the car to a standstill.
I handed her out. She rang the bell and entered. I followed her in.
"Like to look round the house?" said Miss Childe. "We've given up showing it since the Suffragettes, but if you could give me a reference——"
"Messrs. Salmon and Gluckstein," said I, "are my solicitors."