The poet was protected, however, from having to answer this objection by a sudden, happily-timed interruption.

Mr. Urquhart, escorting Selena Gault, came shuffling amiably towards them.

“Our two young friends in the kitchen-garden, ha?” was the Squire’s greeting. “I’ve just been telling Miss Gault, haven’t I, lady, how well you and I, Solent, get on together as fellow authors. I never got on so well with our poor dear Redfern, did I, Mr. Otter?”

Wolf was aghast at the complicated significance of the look that his employer fixed upon the agitated Jason.

“Your boots have got something nasty on them,” the poet hurriedly rapped out to Miss Gault; and before the lady could stop him, he was down on his knees on the gravel, wiping one of her shoes with a handful of grass.