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 the moment was premature. We cannot arrange these things to suit ourselves. I knew that the time was not yet ripe, but the magic scent of the yellow lubin was too much for me.

"Miss Derrick—" I said hoarsely.

Phyllis was looking with more intentness than the attractions of the flower justified at a rose she held in her hand. The bees hummed in the lubin.

"Miss Derrick—" I said, and stopped again.

"I say, you people," said a cheerful voice, "tea is ready. Halloo, Garnet, how are you? That medal arrived yet from the humane society?"

I spun round. Mr. Tom Chase was standing at the end of the path. I grinned a sickly grin.

"Well, Tom," said Phyllis.

And there was, I thought, just the faintest trace of annoyance in her voice.