"Neither, I think," Max replied after a survey of the close-clipped lawn, boasting that velvety turf which only centuries of care can perfect. Great groups of laurel proudly proclaimed the right of the Manor to its name; carefully trimmed hedges of yew and box protected borders already gay with spring flowers, and beyond the grounds shimmered the sea. Max's glance was one of affection, for this was the scene of many happy boyhood days.
"I think I'd shy just as quickly at an American tea-fight," he said at length. "As for being neither English nor American, I love both countries. I would certainly be loyal to my own, but I would also take up arms for England, if the time ever came that she needed me and the two duties didn't conflict."
"You're a duck," said Constance promptly. "Come, take up arms and carry a basket of buns for me this afternoon."
"Too many petticoats coming," said Max. "I'm afraid of those freaks from the rectory. But I'll agree to furnish a substitute who will more than take my place. The kiddies will be thrilled to a peanut. Come now, let me off?"
"I suppose so," agreed Constance. "Don't bother about letting me down softly. Trot off and do anything you think you have to do. Here are the Marqué children already. And there come the Thaynes."
"I will perform a vanishing act," said Max quickly. "Connie, I really am booked for an hour with Uncle Dick, but I'll send that substitute. Watch for him."
Constance looked after him suspiciously, but Max was already half across the sunken garden, whistling to Tylo as he went.
"Are we too early, Miss Connie?" asked Frances as they came up.
"Just on the dot," replied Connie, greeting them all. "The children are arriving. We will play games first and then have tea. Excuse me, please, while I go and speak to the Reverend Fred."
Constance departed to greet the curate thus disrespectfully designated, a youthful individual of rather prepossessing appearance. Just behind him appeared Rose and Muriel LeCroix and other girls whom Frances knew at school.