"Oh, that's nothing," said Flurry easily; "he told me one day when he
was half screwed that his Commission of the Peace was worth a hundred
and fifty a year to him in turkeys and whisky, and he was telling the
truth for once."
At this point Flurry's eye wandered, and following its direction I saw
Lady Knox's smart 'bus cleaving its way through the throng of country
people, lurching over the ups and downs of the field like a ship in a
sea. I was too blind to make out the component parts of the white
froth that crowned it on top, and seethed forth from it when it had
taken up a position near the tent in which Philippa was even now
propping the legs of the tea-table, but from the fact that Flurry
addressed himself to the door, I argued that Miss Sally had gone inside.
Lady Knox's manner had something more than its usual bleakness. She
had brought, as she promised, a large contingent, but from the way that
the strangers within her gates melted impalpably and left me to deal
with her single-handed, I drew the further deduction that all was not
well.
"Did you ever in your life see such a gang of women as I have brought
with me?" she began with her wonted directness, as I piloted her to the
Grand Stand, and placed her on the stoutest looking of the fish-boxes.
"I have no patience with men who yacht! Bernard Shute has gone off to
the Clyde, and I had counted on his being a man at my dance next week.
I suppose you'll tell me you're going away too."