right.’
‘Oh!’ cried Mrs Lace. She said no more; her brain was in a turmoil. After all, she thought with wild exhilaration, Miss Smith was not Miss Smith, neither was Miss Jones Miss Jones; on the contrary, they were both well-known figures in London Society. Why then should not the name of ‘Noel Foster’ also conceal some thrilling identity?
‘I can see that, of course, you know quite well,’ said Jasper, smiling. ‘Those famous features are not so easy to disguise, are they? And now, dear Mrs Lace, one word of warning. Don’t let the – don’t let HIM see that you know. He is down here with the express intention of avoiding publicity, formality, and all the tedious attributes of his position, and if his identity were to be found out, even by the lady whom he – (do you mind if I am frank with you?) whom he so passionately admires, he would leave at once. It would be better if neither of us were to speak of this again, even to each other, and, of course, I rely upon your absolute discretion as far as the outside world is concerned. Should his whereabouts be discovered we should have journalists and photographers behind every tree, and these few short weeks of privacy which he so badly needs would be ruined for him.’
‘I will keep his secret locked in my heart for ever,’ whispered Mrs Lace, her eyes shining.
‘And now the time has come for me to fulfil my errand,’ saidJasper, looking furtively over his shoulder and lowering his voice, ‘where can the – where can my friend see you for a while alone and without fear of interruption.’
Mrs Lace, her colour heightening, considered. At last she said, ‘In Chalford Park, not so very far from the Old Manor, there is a small lake on whose shores a pink and white temple stands. It is almost entirely overgrown with ivy, honeysuckle and amaryllis, and is concealed from view by the wild-rose bushes which surround it. Nobody ever goes there.’
‘Ah! happy Noel,’ cried Jasper gallantly. ‘With how much envy do I contemplate his lot. Will you, then, be there tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock punctually, and when you hear the hooting of an owl answer with the cry of a woodpecker if you are certain that the coast is clear?’
‘Yes, you can count upon it,’ said Mrs Lace. Unversed in ornithology she resolved that at dinner she would learn from Major Lace, who was, the cry of the woodpecker.
Jasper now rose and, with a courtly gesture, he kissed her hand prior to taking his leave. At that moment, however, Major Lace could be heard banging about in the hall, and Anne-Marie, who enjoyed showing off her friends to him, begged Jasper to stay a few moments. ‘He always complains if people leave as soon as he comes in.’
Major Lace, it appeared, had been attending a sale of pedigree cows. His usually good-humoured face was clouded with extreme bad temper, as, he had, during the sale, turned over by mistake two pages of the catalogue instead of one, and had thus been misled as to the cow for which he was bidding. He bought the wrong one for an exorbitant price only to discover that his purchase was totally lacking in that desirable piece of anatomy – the udder.
‘It appears that this brute is well known at sales,’ he cried angrily. ‘They’ve been hawking her round the country for months in the hope of finding some mug who would buy her. Chap next to me said, “Why the hell have you bought that cow, Lace?” I said, “Why not? Good cow, good pedigree, heavy record.” “Some mistakethere, Lace,” he said, “her pedigree is all right, but she’ll never have a record. Brute is bagless.” Then I found out what I’d done, see, turned over two pages of the b—catalogue at once. There was such a glare, you know.’
‘Very easy thing to do,’ said Jasper sympathetically.
‘Damned stupid of me all the same. I should have taken a good look at the brute, then it would never have happened. Bagless she is, absolutely bagless. Have a whisky
‘Oh!’ cried Mrs Lace. She said no more; her brain was in a turmoil. After all, she thought with wild exhilaration, Miss Smith was not Miss Smith, neither was Miss Jones Miss Jones; on the contrary, they were both well-known figures in London Society. Why then should not the name of ‘Noel Foster’ also conceal some thrilling identity?
‘I can see that, of course, you know quite well,’ said Jasper, smiling. ‘Those famous features are not so easy to disguise, are they? And now, dear Mrs Lace, one word of warning. Don’t let the – don’t let HIM see that you know. He is down here with the express intention of avoiding publicity, formality, and all the tedious attributes of his position, and if his identity were to be found out, even by the lady whom he – (do you mind if I am frank with you?) whom he so passionately admires, he would leave at once. It would be better if neither of us were to speak of this again, even to each other, and, of course, I rely upon your absolute discretion as far as the outside world is concerned. Should his whereabouts be discovered we should have journalists and photographers behind every tree, and these few short weeks of privacy which he so badly needs would be ruined for him.’
‘I will keep his secret locked in my heart for ever,’ whispered Mrs Lace, her eyes shining.
‘And now the time has come for me to fulfil my errand,’ saidJasper, looking furtively over his shoulder and lowering his voice, ‘where can the – where can my friend see you for a while alone and without fear of interruption.’
Mrs Lace, her colour heightening, considered. At last she said, ‘In Chalford Park, not so very far from the Old Manor, there is a small lake on whose shores a pink and white temple stands. It is almost entirely overgrown with ivy, honeysuckle and amaryllis, and is concealed from view by the wild-rose bushes which surround it. Nobody ever goes there.’
‘Ah! happy Noel,’ cried Jasper gallantly. ‘With how much envy do I contemplate his lot. Will you, then, be there tomorrow afternoon at three o’clock punctually, and when you hear the hooting of an owl answer with the cry of a woodpecker if you are certain that the coast is clear?’
‘Yes, you can count upon it,’ said Mrs Lace. Unversed in ornithology she resolved that at dinner she would learn from Major Lace, who was, the cry of the woodpecker.
Jasper now rose and, with a courtly gesture, he kissed her hand prior to taking his leave. At that moment, however, Major Lace could be heard banging about in the hall, and Anne-Marie, who enjoyed showing off her friends to him, begged Jasper to stay a few moments. ‘He always complains if people leave as soon as he comes in.’
Major Lace, it appeared, had been attending a sale of pedigree cows. His usually good-humoured face was clouded with extreme bad temper, as, he had, during the sale, turned over by mistake two pages of the catalogue instead of one, and had thus been misled as to the cow for which he was bidding. He bought the wrong one for an exorbitant price only to discover that his purchase was totally lacking in that desirable piece of anatomy – the udder.
‘It appears that this brute is well known at sales,’ he cried angrily. ‘They’ve been hawking her round the country for months in the hope of finding some mug who would buy her. Chap next to me said, “Why the hell have you bought that cow, Lace?” I said, “Why not? Good cow, good pedigree, heavy record.” “Some mistakethere, Lace,” he said, “her pedigree is all right, but she’ll never have a record. Brute is bagless.” Then I found out what I’d done, see, turned over two pages of the b—catalogue at once. There was such a glare, you know.’
‘Very easy thing to do,’ said Jasper sympathetically.
‘Damned stupid of me all the same. I should have taken a good look at the brute, then it would never have happened. Bagless she is, absolutely bagless. Have a whisky
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