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grin. “Why should I not marry your Lucilla Hildred?” he said.

CHAPTER VI
    Sarah Trent arrived at the Red House in the middle of a fine October afternoon. She drove herself in The Bomb , with her luggage crammed to the roof behind her. Having studied a map commandeered from the reluctant Mr. Darnac, she had discovered a new and much shorter way to the house. When she came down to interview Miss Marina, she must have driven in circles round the village of Holme instead of coming through it. She had no idea that the entrance to the Red House was only a stone’s throw from the last cottage in the village street.
    The house itself stood high, and the drive sloped sharply. She looked with dislike at the banks on either side of it. They were thickly overgrown with trees and shrubs. Dark drives appeared to be the fashion in the neighbourhood of Holme.
    The house was a square building in the Georgian style, the red brick which had originally given it its name being almost entirely covered by Virginia creeper, which flamed in every shade from scarlet to deep maroon. Coming on it suddenly at the turn of the drive, it was almost as if the house was on fire.
    The Bomb was allotted a stable, and Sarah a room next to Lucilla’s. It was a pleasant room, if a little too pink for Sarah’s taste. As she gazed at it, she felt as if she had known Mrs. Raimond all her life. She knew just what type of woman has a rose-coloured carpet on the floor, a wall-paper with pink and mauve sweet peas profusely interlaced, and pink and white striped curtains at the windows. There was a pink wash-basin with hot and cold water laid on, a rose-coloured shade over the electric light, pink candles on the dressing-table, a pink pin-cushion, and a bright pink eiderdown.
    â€œGolly!” said Sarah.
    It appeared that Miss Marina was resting, and Miss Lucilla was down on the tennis-court. Sarah proceeded to the tennis-court by way of a lawn, a rose-garden, and a flight of steps.
    Lucilla was playing tennis with a young man, and Uncle Geoffrey was watching them. In the sunlight she thought him even better looking than she had done before, and most undeniably pleased to see her. He said,
    â€œWell, well—this is great!”
    And then, before he could say anything else, Lucilla came up with her partner and he was introducing them.
    â€œThis is Lucilla, and this is my son, Richard. But perhaps you’ve already met.”
    Sarah opened smiling lips, but she looked at Lucilla before she spoke. The child was wearing a white shirt and a short black skirt, with black stockings and white tennis shoes. Her face, which had been so pale in the light of Sarah’s electric torch, had the prettiest wild-rose flush. Her hair, as soft and fine and fair as a baby’s, stood out all round her head like a halo. Her round innocent eyes met Sarah’s and said a very plain and insistent no.
    Sarah’s smile widened. She beamed amiably at the little group and said,
    â€œI think Lucilla was out.”
    â€œSo you didn’t meet?” Uncle Geoffrey’s tone was very pleasant.
    â€œI was out with Ricky,” said Lucilla abruptly, and then suddenly the colour ran right up to the roots of her hair. She dropped her racket and stooped to pick it up again.
    â€œOdd child,” thought Sarah. She took a look at the third Hildred, and decided that he wasn’t nearly so good-looking as his father. If Lucilla was having an affair with him, she was a little fool and it was high time she had someone to look after her. She thought Master Ricky looked a good deal of a milksop, a pale watered down edition of his papa—tall, slight, fair, and very well pleased with himself, with the pale blue eyes which make you think of skim milk.
    Presently, while Lucilla and Ricky finished their game, Geoffrey Hildred talked very sympathetically about his ward.
    â€œI hope you’ll rouse her—take her about, get her out of some of this heavy