THE WORLD WAR COLLECTION OF H. C. MCNEILE (SAPPER). Sapper
to feel that everything was just top-hole, and that there's snowballing and dancing and a cheery house-party in sight." He still smiled, and suddenly so did she: she couldn't help it.
"May I ask how you discovered my thoughts?" she asked.
"Not very hard," he answered. "You see, I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation with your brother at Paddington; and, for the rest, your face is expressive." He added that it was also singularly pretty—but the addition was mental.
"My brother," she remarked. "You seem very observant."
"When a boy who is exactly like you calls you a silly ass," said the man, "the conclusion is fairly obvious."
"Still," she persisted, "I know a lot of people who wouldn't have noticed."
"So do I," he agreed. "But then I know a lot of people who wouldn't notice their own noses. And who wouldn't have noticed that your mother is dead, your father is a doctor inclined to be untidy, and your brother is left-handed and keen on fives."
"But," she stammered, "how on earth...?"
He grinned and held out his cigarette-case to her tentatively.
"No, thank you," she said. "But please smoke yourself. Now tell me how you guessed all that?"
"Am I right?" he demanded.
"Perfectly."
"Well—first your mother. Everything you said to your brother showed that you usually run the house. You alluded specifically to your presents for your father and brother, but you never mentioned your mother. Had she been an invalid you would have done. Therefore I assumed she was dead. Secondly, you mentioned your father's stethoscope, and told your brother where it was. Now a doctor who doesn't know where his stethoscope is is inclined to be untidy. Thirdly, the skin on the palm of your brother's left hand is extremely hard, and he kept on rubbing the ball of his thumb. I've played fives myself and I know how a bruise there hurts—though I admit that was a bit of a fluke."
"You're the most disconcerting person," said the girl. "Are you a detective?"
"Not exactly," he laughed. "I assure you that it would be quite impossible for me to tell you in the fashion of Mr. Sherlock Holmes that the man who is just coming to look at our tickets is an ex-sergeant-major of Marines and that his wife keeps hens. But it's always been a hobby of mine ever since I was a boy. It amuses me to try and see things that other people don't. And it's astonishing, as I said before, how much they don't."
"You aren't an ex-sergeant-major of Marines, by any chance, are you?"
The ticket-collector paused in the door and stared at him. "I am not, sir. Why?"
"I only wondered. Does your wife keep hens?"
"I haven't got a wife, sir."
"Good: I mean, bad. Or whichever way you like. Happy Christmas!"
"My reputation shattered, you see," said the man gravely as the door closed.
"I think you're mad," she laughed helplessly.
"But joking apart," he went on, "it really is astonishing what people overlook. And it's almost always the obvious. The average person doesn't pay any attention to what is ordinary. If they saw an elephant walking down the Strand pulling a motor-bus they'd notice it at once."
"Yes; but that would be interesting." objected the girl.
"You don't think ordinary things are interesting?"
"I don't think the obvious is very interesting."
"Don't you?" he said with a cryptic smile. "I wonder."
He changed the conversation, and for Mavis Houghton the journey to Swindon passed all too quickly. Young men had not been plentiful in Pileditch Road, and those that had come were not particularly enthralling. But this stranger seemed to have been everywhere and to know everybody. Moreover, he was essentially not the type of man for whom a girl's programme is full when he asks her to dance.
"This is your train," he said, as he deposited her bag in a corner seat. "And you get to the station for Hoxted Grange in fifty minutes."
"Not caught this time," she laughed. "You saw it on the label."
"You're improving," he grinned. "And don't forget during the next few days what you said about the obvious."
The train started, and he stood bareheaded on the platform, watching it go. Then he turned and walked quickly away, and the girl leant back in her seat with a vague feeling of disappointment. He hadn't volunteered his name; after all, she reflected, why should he? They were just passing train acquaintances; it was more than unlikely that she would ever see him again. And yet she couldn't help hoping that amongst the Hon. Jane Frosdick's large circle of acquaintances, a large young man with very blue eyes was to be found. And further, that the aforesaid large young man would decide to call at Hoxted Grange during the next few days.
The house-party consisted of twelve, including herself, and she hadn't been in the house three hours before she knew she was going to enjoy herself. As her father had said, Aunt Jane was not a bad old thing, and she had the happy knack of keeping things going without giving people the impression that they were marshalled about like a personally conducted tour.
"It seems years since I've seen you. Mavis, my dear," she said as she went up with her to her bedroom. "And I only wish I could have asked young Robin. But I haven't got a spare corner. And, of course, we're short of servants. I can't get another housemaid for love or money, and only by the merest fluke did I manage to get a footman."
She rattled on, while her shrewd eyes took in every detail of her niece. "Pretty," she reflected, "very pretty. Wants dressing, but could carry her clothes well. Must really try and do something for her. Like her father; and a bit like Mary too. A fool, Mary; threw herself away, poor dear. Still, sisters and all that: girl was one of the family. What about Mark Terrill? Seemed to have plenty of money; knew the right people: thirty-five years old; good-looking. Send 'em in to dinner together."
"I'll have your tea sent up, my dear," she said at this juncture in her thoughts, "and then when you've changed I'll introduce you to the others."
"Thank you, Aunt Jane, so much."
The door closed behind her relative and Mavis sank into the arm-chair by the fire with a sigh of content. In Pileditch Road there were gas-stoves in the bedrooms. And suddenly she found herself thinking of the last remark the large young man had made to her on Swindon platform.
"Don't forget what you said about the obvious during the next few days."
At the moment it hadn't made very much impression on her; now, for some reason or other it came back to her mind. What had he meant? She had said that the obvious wasn't interesting. Well, why on earth was she not to forget that? A maid brought in the tea, and as she drank it, her mind was still busy. Could it mean that in some way or other he was going to be there? Why it should was beyond her; and yet, if there was any meaning at all in the remark, it must surely imply that he was involved in some way with those next few days. And if so—
However, at that point she took a pull at herself, changed out of her travelling clothes, and went downstairs. Her aunt, who was writing a letter, rose and met her at the foot of the stairs.
"You look charming, my dear child, perfectly charming. Come along to the billiard-room; they're playing slosh or fives or something. Hum! it's evidently something." she added grimly, as a loud crash of breaking glass heralded their arrival. "Really, you two are incorrigible. What have you smashed this time?"
The Heavenly Twins—Janet and Paul Wetherby—confronted them hand-in-hand.
"Now that's a most tactless moment to enter, Mrs. Frosdick," remarked Paul sadly. "It's the last pane of glass in that bookcase, and if you'd come in a minute later I could have blamed Terrill."
A man seated on the leather-topped fender laughed. "And probably got away with it, too," he said. "I can compete with one of you, but not with both combined."
He