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the fact is that I’ve done something uncommonly stupid: run out of petrol the better part of a mile back. Can you tell me how far I am from Mullion Castle now?’
    â€˜Not all that far, sir. The gates are only a couple of hundred yards ahead of you. And then there’s the drive through the park, which is just under half a mile.’
    â€˜Well, that’s not too bad.’ The stranger didn’t seem to feel that it was too good either. ‘I said I’d arrive in time for luncheon, and it seems uncivil to be late.’
    â€˜I could go ahead at the double, sir. It’s really rather a nice run. I’d explain things. If you were to mention your name.’
    â€˜It’s Charles Honeybath. I–’
    â€˜Mine’s Swithin Gore.’
    â€˜How do you do?’ Mr Honeybath said this instantly. ‘But, no – I couldn’t possibly trouble you in that way. If there were some petrol around, and I could be driven back with it to my car–’
    â€˜Is the key in the ignition?’ It didn’t seem to Swithin that the elderly Mr Honeybath was being too clear-headed.
    â€˜Yes, it is.’
    â€˜Then much better walk straight on to the castle, sir, and leave things to me. I think I can get hold of some petrol, and bring the car up to the castle not all that long after your own arrival. I do drive. I’ve driven his lordship’s Rolls from time to time.’ Swithin, who had his naive side, added this particular with some satisfaction. ‘And you’d better start off at once, sir. I’m afraid it’s going to rain rather heavily quite soon.’
    â€˜So it is.’ Mr Honeybath glanced up at the heavens apprehensively. ‘And it’s uncommonly kind of you.’ Mr Honeybath’s hand moved towards a pocket, and then came away again. Swithin detected and approved this second thought. He didn’t propose to be tipped by Mr Honeybath, either now or later. Payment for the petrol was one thing, and he’d make sure of collecting it. Accepting the price of a couple of drinks in return for giving an old buffer a helping hand was quite another. And now he hastened the old buffer on his way, and went about the business of retrieving his car. First Lord Wyndowe’s tennis gear and now this visitor’s stranded bus. He was doing the right thing about both of them, he told himself, like the model little lackey he was. He wondered, darkly, if Lord Mullion’s elder daughter saw him that way.

 
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5
    An obliging young man, Charles Honeybath told himself as he walked on towards Mullion Castle. When explaining the manner of his arrival to his host and hostess he would not omit to express his sense of this strongly. For it must be said in general that disobligingness was abroad in the land, so that conduct of a contrary character deserved to be marked. It was true that the under-gardener called Swithin – an attractive name – had been amused as well as polite. But this was fair enough in face of that rash assumption that here had been Henry’s son Cyprian. Moreover, stranded motorists are always for some reason mildly laughable, just as are equestrians who have tumbled off a horse. Honeybath imagined that upon socially appropriate occasions young Swithin might reveal a mildly satirical bent. It was possible that his mind was a little too lively for his job.
    It suddenly became apparent that the lad was at least a good meteorologist. The rain was falling. In fact it might be said by a person of literary bent that the heavens had opened. And there was no shelter in sight. Along the hedgerow, indeed, there was a scattering of stately elms. But as these were all dead they were unlikely to afford much protection.
    Honeybath hastened forward. The village of Mullion, he vaguely believed, lay some way ahead. But he must now be quite close to the entrance to the castle’s drive, and there would probably be a lodge in which he