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"Very fit, thank you, Dal," she answered. "At least I am every
moment improving in health and spirits, now I have arrived here at
last."
Garth stood his racket against the arm of her chair and deposited
himself full length on the grass beside her, leaning on his elbow.
"Was anything wrong with London?" he asked, rather low, not looking
up at her, but at the smart brown shoe, planted firmly on the grass
so near his hand. "Nothing was wrong with London," replied Jane
frankly; "it was hot and dusty of course, but delightful as usual.
Something was wrong with ME; and you will be ashamed of me, Dal, if
I confess what it was."
Garth did not look up, but assiduously picked little blades of grass
and laid them in a pattern on Jane's shoe. This conversation would
have been exactly to the point had they been alone. But was Jane
really going to announce to the assembled company, in that dear,
resonant, carrying voice of hers, the sweet secret of their miss of
one another?
"Liver?" inquired Mrs.


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