How battered the poor garden will look tomorrow after this deluge." * * * * * Mr.Taynton changed his wet clothes and half an hour afterwards he sat down to his simple and excellent supper.

Mrs.Otter had provided an admirable vegetable soup for him, and some cold lamb with asparagus and endive salad.

A macedoine of strawberries followed and a scoop of cheese.
Simple as his fare was, it just suited Mr.Taynton's tastes, and he was indulging himself with the rather rare luxury of a third glass of port when Williams entered again.
"Mr.Assheton," he said, and held the door open.
Morris came in; he was dressed in evening clothes with a dinner jacket, and gave no salutation to his host.
"He's not come yet ?" he asked.
But his host sprang up.
"Dear boy," he said, "what a relief it is to see you.

Ever since you left this afternoon I have had you on my mind.

You will have a glass of port ?" Morris laughed, a curious jangling laugh.
"Oh yes, to drink his health," he said.
He sat down with a jerk, and leaned his elbows on the table.
"He'll want a lot of health to carry him through this, won't he ?" he asked.
He drank his glass of port like water, and Mr.Taynton instantly filled it up again for him.
"Ah, I remember you don't like port," he said.