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“Oh!” Mrs. Mayberry glanced at her brother.

“You can have my study,” Mr. Keane said good- humouredly. “Because if you intend to work on holiday, I don’t! You’ll find a typewriter and paper and carbons there, Lucy. If there is anything else you want, let me know.”

They settled down to work soon after breakfast, and despite Mrs. Mayberry’s fear that she might have lost the thread of her story, she dictated steadily almost until lunch time from notes she had already made. This made Lucy feel rather guilty as she knew that Mrs. Mayberry must have been working since coming to the villa while she had been free to enjoy herself. However, remembering what Owen had said about the good it would do his aunt to relax, she made no reference to this. At least she could make up for lost time by transcribing her shorthand during the afternoon, which would give her every excuse to avoid the expected visitors.

At a quarter past twelve, Mrs. Mayberry looked at her watch.

“Dear me, it’s later than I had thought,” she remarked. “I must go and tidy myself before Stanley’s visitors arrive. I’m not too fond of meeting strangers, so come and support me as soon as they arrive, will you, Lucy?”

It was said in all kindliness, of course, in order to make it clear that though Lucy was now working, she was to be included in the party. None the less, it was a considerable relief, when she went out to the veranda, to find that only Mr. Kelsall and Marion had come. He was, in fact, just explaining the reason for that to Mr. Keane.

“My daughter’s not feeling too good,” he announced regretfully. “And her husband felt he’d better stay with her. I hope you’ll excuse them—and I’m sure Miss Singleton will make up for their absence?”

There was a polite murmur of regret, and a welcome for Marion. Owen attended to drinks for the guests and then for the members of the house party. As he handed a long frosted glass to Lucy he remarked in an undertone:

“Might have been worse!”

“Indeed, yes,” she agreed. “All the same, thank you for persuading Mrs. Mayberry that it was time I started working again.”

He grinned in a conspiratorial way and then went over to talk to Mr. Kelsall. A little later, they went in to lunch. This passed off without any awkward incidents occurring, possibly because Mr. Kelsall appeared to be in rather a subdued mood.

As soon as the meal was over, Lucy slipped quietly away and began typing. Consequently she had no idea that Mr. Kelsall had seized an opportunity of saying confidentially to Mrs. Mayberry:

“I'd be much obliged if you would spare me a few minutes of your time—somewhere where we could talk privately?”

Slightly surprised, Mrs. Mayberry suggested that he should wheel her in her chair to her favourite spot in the garden in the shade of a big tree. Once there, she looked at him inquiringly. He came to the point without delay.

“I owe you an apology,” he said abruptly. “Not so much because my young people haven’t come, but the reason why they haven’t. The fact is, there’s nothing wrong with my daughter—except temper—but I wouldn’t let her and her husband come. Not likely— not after yesterday.” He sat with a hand on each knee, scowling deeply.

“Yesterday?” Mrs. Mayberry echoed, puzzled.

He looked at her sharply.

“She didn’t say anything about it?”

“She? Who?”

“That nice little girl you’ve got working for you. No I can see she didn’t. Well, the fact of the matter is, my daughter behaved very badly to her yesterday.

Apparently she knew all about Miss—what is it?— Darvill? Yes, well, Gwenda knew all that, and she deliberately persuaded me to ask her—”

“Mr. Kelsall, you’re talking in conundrums,” Mrs. Mayberry interrupted. “Why on earth should Lucy not have been included in your invitation? She is a charming girl and—”

“Ah, I can see you don’t know about it. Well, did you know that Miss Darvill was on the point of getting married when the man broke it off?”

“Yes, I knew that,” Mrs. Mayberry said reluctantly.

“Yes, but did you know this—the man that jilted her, on her wedding day, what’s more, is now married to my daughter? No? Well, he is. Now do you see what I’m apologising for?”

“Did Lucy know she would be meeting him?” Mrs. Mayberry asked sharply.

“I don’t know. But whether she did or not, she behaved just the way you would have liked her to. All the same, I’m worried.”

Seeing that he had evidently made up his mind to unburden himself, Mrs. Mayberry decided that, on the whole, perhaps she had better hear the whole story, little as she wanted to. And after a moment he went on:

“I don’t say my daughter’s choice of a husband would have been mine, but to be honest, I don’t know what sort I would have chosen for her. The fact is, I’ve spoiled her all her life. That means she’d never have knuckled down to the strong, arrogant type. And she’d have been bored by an intelligent man as much as he’d have been bored by her. So I suppose the only sort for her is the easygoing playboy. Not but what I’d thought there was more to him than that. He worked for me, you know. That’s how he met Gwenda. I thought quite a lot of him—one of the younger men I’d got my eye on for promotion. But Gwenda’s idea of a husband is that he shall be a playmate at her beck and call—”

“And he doesn’t mind that?” Mrs. Mayberry asked distastefully, thinking that perhaps Lucy had a lucky escape.

“Not at first. Now—” he frowned, ‘Tm not so sure. He’s entirely dependent on Gwenda- for cash, you see, and I’ve a notion she keeps him pretty short. Natural enough, I suppose, from her point of view. But it could make for trouble, and that I don’t want —won’t have. I’m old-fashioned in some ways, and I don’t want a divorce in my family. They’re married— and they’re going to stay that way.”

“But can you enforce that?” Mrs. Mayberry asked gravely. “And if you could, would it be wise?”

“Wise or not, that’s how it’s going to be,” Mr. Kelsall announced grimly. “And I can enforce it all right. As a matter of fact, I’ve always foreseen something like this—Gwenda falling for a young man without any money of his own. So though she’s got some money of her own, mainly she’s dependent on the allowance I make her, and the pair of them can’t live the way they seem to regard as necessary without it. Gwenda will toe the line all right if she sees a danger of having to make out on less!”

“And the young man?”

“Corbett? Well, he’s learned pretty quickly to enjoy having all the things money can buy, and he hasn’t a penny piece of his own—spent all his savings on Gwenda when they first met. He hasn’t got a job, either, and I certainly shouldn’t give him his old one back—not if he left Gwenda.”

“He might get another one,” Mrs. Mayberry suggested.

“He might. Though, as I say, he likes living rich, and he couldn’t hope to earn that much for a good many years to come.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Mrs. Mayberry asked diffidently.

“Go ahead!”

“Have you considered the possibility of making Mr. Corbett a personal allowance? Not a big one,” seeing Mr. Kelsall’s frown, “but sufficient to allow him to feel he has a measure of independence. It might make a very real difference to the relationship between him and your daughter.”

“It might, at that,” Mr. Kelsall admitted. “I don’t know but what I wouldn’t do it, but for one thing.”

Mrs. Mayberry waited in silence.

“That little girl, Miss Darvill. I wish to goodness she wasn’t here!”

“Indeed?” Mrs. Mayberry said coldly. “Why?”

“Oh, no criticism of her! But it seems to me that a man who will let one girl down is quite likely to do the same thing to another girl. And if Gwenda has really got him on the raw, and he’d got money in his pocket, I wouldn’t put it past him to make up to another woman just to score off her.” He paused and then added deliberately: “And it seems to me that the stage is set for just such an act.”

“I’m not going to pretend I don’t know what you mean, because of course it’s obvious. You think Lucy may still be in love with him.” Mrs. Mayberry shook her head emphatically. “You’re quite wrong, Mr. Kelsall.”

“You sound very sure of that,” Mr. Kelsall commented.

“Quite sure,” Mrs. Mayberry assured him. “And for the best of all possible reasons.”

“Oh? In love with someone else?” Mr. Kelsall said astutely. “Well, that’s a load off my mind, anyhow. She seems a nice little thing—I wouldn’t like her to be mixed up in anything shady.”

“She won’t be,” Mrs. Mayberry insisted. “And now, Mr. Kelsall, I really think we must go back—”

“Yes, of course.” He jumped to his feet and pushed the chair carefully back to the villa. And immediately both of them forgot what they had been discussing.

Marion, white-faced, her eyes closed, was lying back in a long chair. One of her shoes had been taken off and Owen was examining her swollen ankle.

“Miss Singleton has hurt her ankle," Mr. Keane explained somewhat unnecessarily, in a voice totally devoid of all expression. “It would seem advisable that she should see a doctor.”

COMPLETE silence followed Mr. Keane’s explanation. Then, wincing with pain, Marion apologised for being a nuisance.

“I can’t think how I could have been so careless,” she said forlornly. “My ankle just seemed to turn over. But I’m sure it will feel better soon—there’s no need to worry about a doctor.”

“Nonsense, my dear girl,” Mrs. Mayberry told her briskly. “Of course a doctor must see it. Do you know of one, Stanley?”

“As a matter of fact I do,” he said a trifle guiltily. “I got hold of the name and address of one when—er —when—”

“When you knew I was coming here,” Mrs. Mayberry finished, smiling at him. “Very wise of you, Stanley, particularly as things have turned out. Well, you’d better ring him up.”

“I doubt if my French—” Mr. Keane objected. Owen stood erect.

“I’ll go,” he said shortly. “Is his name on your desk list, Uncle?”

“Yes—under D for Doctor,” Mr. Keane explained. “Perhaps I’d better—”

But Owen was already striding into the villa and a moment or two later Lucy was startled by his abrupt entry into Mr. Keane’s study.

“Marion has hurt her ankle,” he explained briefly in answer to Lucy’s anxious look. “It seems to be advisable for her to see a doctor.”

He ruffled through the leaves of a small desk telephone list.

“Ah, here we are. Dr. Henri Lefevre—”

He lifted the telephone, asked for the number and in a few moments was speaking rapidly to someone.

After giving exact directions for reaching the villa, he rang off.

‘‘That was lucky,” he remarked feelingly. “He was just on the point of going out. He’ll be here quite soon.”

“Is it very bad?” Lucy asked sympathetically.

“It appears to be paining her considerably,” Owen told her. “I suppose you don't know anything about first aid for this sort of thing, do you, Lucy?”

“Not really. All I know, is what had to be done when I once hurt my own ankle,” Lucy explained. “It had to be supported in the position I found most comfortable, and it was bandaged. Oh, yes—the bandages were kept wet with cold water. But it may be a different sort of injury in Miss Singleton’s case, and that might be the wrong treatment.”

“Yes, I suppose it might.” Owen pondered. “Oh, well, as Lefevre is coming quite soon, perhaps it would be better to wait for his diagnosis.”

He walked over to the door, but with his hand on the knob he turned.

“How did you come to hurt your ankle, Lucy?” he asked. “High heels?”

“No—playing tennis,” she explained, surprised that he should bother to ask such a question just now.

“Oh, do you play tennis?” he asked in a preoccupied way. “We must have a game some time.”

“It wouldn’t be much fun for you,” Lucy warned him. “I’m only just out of the rabbit class!”

“I’ll take you up on that!” he announced, smiling faintly. “I know from experience that you’re inclined to underrate your abilities! Well, I suppose I’d better get back to the scene of the catastrophe!”

He sauntered off. Lucy, wondering whether she ought to have asked if there was anything she could do to help, decided that if there had been, Owen would have mentioned it. So she got on with her work, though once or twice she paused, a rather puzzled expression on her face.

* * *

Dr. Lefevre was most emphatic. Miss Singleton must have rest, rest, and more rest. Above all, she must not attempt to walk until the swelling had gone down.

“How long will that take?” Marion asked apprehensively.

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

“A few days, no more, I hope. I will come and see you tomorrow—”

“But I shan’t be here,” Marion explained. “I don't
live
here.”

“Miss Singleton is my guest—on my yacht,” Mr. Kelsall spoke for the first time since the doctor's arrival.
“La Mouette”

“But this is difficult,” Dr. Lefevre exclaimed.
“La Mouette
—a beautiful yacht, I have much admired her. None the less, it presents difficulties for Miss Singleton. To get aboard—it might do fresh injury.”

“That's What I was thinking,” Mr. Kelsall agreed. “Not that we wouldn't be only too willing to look after you, my dear,” he added to Marion. “But—”

“And then, in a day or so, I would suggest an X-ray—” Dr. Lefevre went on. “One wishes to make sure—”

“Oh,
dear\”
Marion lamented. “Why was I so stupid! Could I go to a nursing home or something?”

Mrs. Mayberry took the law into her own hands.

“You had better stay here, Marion, until you are able to have your ankle X-rayed,” she said briskly. “Then, according to how you are, you can go to the hospital or a nursing home in a car or an ambulance. If there is a bone broken, presumably you will have to have your ankle in plaster, and then, in a sense, you will be more mobile—we can discuss what’s to be done then.”

Dr. Lefevre looked relieved.

“That would be excellent, madame,” he announced. “I will bandage the ankle—and this must be soaked in cold water and kept in this condition. Miss Singleton should rest, preferably in bed, with the injured ankle raised and with a cage or some other suitable article placed over so that there is no pressure from the bed-clothes. A mild sedative now, and a somewhat stronger one tonight—that is all that can be done for the time being.”