"Mother," said Phil, "this is John Acton."
"I've heard Phil talk about your wonderful win at Aldershot. I suppose you're great friends?"
The "great friends" looked on the ground rather guiltily, but Phil cut in with—
"I say, Acton, you must come and have tea with mother and me in my den. Can you?"
Acton said quietly, "All right, Bourne. Thanks, awfully." Then he added under his breath to Phil, "If I can come as a friend?"
"On that condition," said Phil, "I'd like you to come."
The trio walked back along the road—a happy trio they were, too—and a melancholy procession of injured horses and an angry coachman closed their rear. The tea in Bourne's room was very successful, and I should fancy that Hinton did more hard thinking and hard staring when he saw Acton amicably seated with his feet under Bourne's table than he ever did before. The minute he had permission, he flew down the corridor, and exploded bombshell after bombshell among wondering Amorians.
"Acton and Bourne teaing together like two birds on a bough!" he gasped.
"That would be a funny sight," said Cherry. "Birds don't take tea."
"Write an epilogue, Fruity. Teaing together as friendly as Grim and I might."