"Yes, indeed, sir. It'll be round in a moment. What a dreadful thing to have happened, sir. I can't understand—"
"Neither can I, except that they're both something like our things. But look at that label. This isn't Whinnerley Hall, is it?"
"No, indeed, sir."
"Well, have them put in the car. I'll go and find her ladyship. I'm afraid she'll be terribly upset."
I flung out of the house. Thirty seconds later I was explaining things to an open-mouthed girl in the arbour. As I finished, I heard the car coming round from the garage.
"Come along, dear." I glanced at my watch. "With any luck we shall just catch the seven-ten on to Whinnerley. Remember, you're terribly upset and simply frantic about your jewellery, especially the tiara Uncle George gave you. Do you think you could cry? I should have to kiss you then."
Again the faint smile. The next minute we were in the car, rushing down the avenue. There was the white banner, hanging very still now, for the faint breeze had died with the day. As we approached the lodge gates I leaned forward and looked across her—she was on my right—looked away over the park to where the sun had set. The sky was flaming.
"Sic transit," said I.
"Good-bye, backwater," said she.
Her voice was not unsteady, but there was that in her tone that made me look at her. Her lashes were wet.