"You wrote those impressions of St. James's Park at dawn?" she asked eagerly.
"I did."
She smiled a smile of relief.
"Of course I knew that you were a reasonable person," she pronounced.
"Why couldn't you have said so at once? Come along to tea."
"Willingly," he replied, rising to his feet. "Is this your father coming across the lawn?"
She nodded.
"He's rather a dear. Do you know anything about Assyria?"
"Not a scrap."
"That's a pity," she regretted. "Come. Father, this is Mr. Burton. He is very hot and he is going to have tea with us, and he wrote those impressions in the Piccadilly Gazette which you gave me to read. My father is an Oriental scholar, Mr. Burton, but he is also interested in modern things."
Burton held out his hand.