“Well, I daresay you wouldn't have. He hasn't been here long, and though I believe he's quite all right—I mean, his father is supposed to have had estates in Poland, and that sort of thing—one never knows with foreigners, does one? Actually, I met him at the Lindales', but, of course, he isn't generally received. I don't know how Mavis came to know him, but I'm sure I don't grudge her a little fun, for it's not much she gets. He's very attractive. So good-looking, and such lovely manners! I'm not surprised poor Mavis is a bit smitten.”

“Are you perhaps referring to a dark youth who rides a particularly noisy motor-bicycle?” enquired Mr. Drybeck, in repulsive accents.

“Yes, that's the one. Ladislas Zama-something-or-other: I never can get my tongue round it. There's Lion! Look who's coming, Peekies! Run and meet Father!”

They had by this time reached the cross-road. To the left could be seen the unimpressive figure of Major Midgeholme, trying to preserve his white flannels from the excited advances of the Ultimas, who were barking and jumping at him; to the right the village street led, past the Church and the Vicarage, to the lane winding up to the front drive of The Cedars. Beyond this lane, the street continued serving a few small shops and picturesque cottages, and Mr. Gavin Plenmeller's Queen Anne house, which was set back from it in a walled garden. It then ran between hedges through open country until it came to an end at the imposing, though sadly worn gates of Old Place, the Squire's home.

Thornden could boast of no village green, or ancient stocks, but it contained, in addition to several houses built in more elegant ages, which any house-agent would have described as gentlemen's residences, a good many half-timbered cottages of honest antiquity, and a Perpendicular Church with a Jacobean rood screen, photographs of which had been reproduced in at least three books on Ecclesiastical Architecture.