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only one stipulation. For appearance’ sake he begged her to employ a companion, and rather than enter into an argument, Valerie Grenton had agreed. Miss Strayte was with her now. She was a woman in the uncertain years between thirty and forty, with parchment-like skin which had never known any touch of cosmetic, and seemed to Ruth only to accentuate the too liberal use of make-up on Miss Grenton’s.
    “Are you the hostess?”
    Valerie Grenton approached Ruth and, without awaiting an answer, passed on into the kitchen. Ruth followed in her wake, a little taken aback by her guest’s summary manner.
    “Yes,” she said. “Will you come this way, Miss Grenton? I hope you have had a pleasant journey up?”
    “It was chronic!” Valerie replied. “I had a puncture this side of Newcastle, too, which hung me up till the wheel was changed.” She walked ahead of Ruth into the main room of the farmhouse which had been converted into a large, comfortable lounge. It was gay with new chintz and great bowls of freshly picked daffodils from the Carbay Woods. Ruth was very proud of the homely picture it made, but her second guest perched herself on the arm of the nearest chair and said petulantly:
    “I had no idea that this place was at the back of beyond.”
    “It’s quiet,” Ruth acknowledged, “but we will do our best to amuse you while you are here.”
    “I should imagine that would be about the most difficult task you have ever undertaken,” the other girl said with a little twist of her lips that might have been a smile. “I’ve just recovered from a nasty bout of influenza, and I’ve been sent up here to recuperate. Dad might have told me that ‘vegetate’ was the nearer word!”
    Ruth chose to ignore that last sentence and waited patiently while Valerie completed her tour of inspection of the ground floor.
    “I hope you are going to like it here,” she ventured at last, and wondered at the same time why it didn’t seem to matter in the slightest whether Valerie Grenton liked Conningscliff or not.
    It had mattered whether John Travayne was satisfied, she acknowledged inwardly.
    Miss Grenton had turned to look at her more closely. “I’ll tell you that in a day or two,” she said abruptly. “Meantime, I’m feeling very much in need of a wash after that disgustingly long journey. This is a new type of holiday to me, but I’m willing to sample everything once. Are there many people here?”
    “Just another gentleman, at the moment—” began Ruth.
    “Who has been enjoying the view from his bedroom window immensely, Miss Farday. May I congratulate you on your Guest House?”
    Ruth swung round. John Travayne was coming down the room towards them. He was looking straight at Ruth and, as she turned to introduce him to his fellow-guest, she was aware of a remarkable change in Valerie Grenton’s expression. The petulant lips were curved in a winning smile, and the languorous dark eyes were turned full upon the newcomer.
    “Mr. Travayne—Miss Grenton,” Ruth introduced them.
    Valerie held out her immaculately gloved hand.
    “I thought I was about to be bored to death with my own company,” she said.
    “Life’s too short and should be too interesting to be bored,” Travayne replied
    “It depends on the interest!” Valerie said lightly. “You must admit that the right company goes a long way to relieve boredom.”
    Travayne turned to Ruth.
    “I see you have a few animals in the fields still. May I take a look round?” he asked.
    “Certainly,” Ruth said. “I am just going to show Miss Grenton to her room, but you’ll find our man somewhere— probably in the vicinity of the stack-shed. He’ll show you round.”
    Valerie Grenton had gone out into the hall in search of her companion.
    “Amelia, where in heaven’s name do you wander to?” she demanded when Miss Strayte came in through the side door from the garden.
    “I saw some flowers, my dear, and I simply had to go out and walk among