“Take two pinches, Lionel,” counselled the little lady.
Lady Pomfret read her and smiled.
The Squire rang the bell, a signal that meant “Lights out!” With his hand on the old-fashioned bell-pull, he turned to his son.
“By the way, I heard a bit of news this afternoon. The Professor has turned up again.”
“Moxon, father?”
“Yes, Moxon.” He added for Margot’s benefit, “Not a Moxon of Wooton, my dear, but a very presentable and knowledgable young man.”
CHAPTER XI
Cricket matches of the first magnitude are played of a Saturday in Nether-Applewhite. At ten punctually, an aged and yellow bus, drawn by two stout horses, rolled through the lodge gates of Pomfret Court and drew up at the marquee. A young, fresh-faced man, sitting by the driver, tootled a tandem horn. Fishpingle said to the Squire:
“His lordship is with them.”