"Ah, perfectly!" smiled the Prince. "Alas, I find myself wholly ignorant of the art!"

"Precious little art about it," said Steel. "Hard work's more like it."

From her stance beyond the group, Vicky spoke thoughtfully. "I think there's something rather frightening about farming."

"Frightening?" repeated Steel.

"Primordial," murmured Vicky. "The struggle against Nature, savagery of the soil."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Steel demanded. "I never heard such rot!"

"But no, one sees exactly what she means!" the Prince exclaimed.

"I'm afraid I don't," replied Steel. "Struggle against Nature! I assure you, I don't, young lady!"

"Oh yes! Rain. And weeds," sighed Vicky.

"That's right," said Wally, entering unexpectedly into the conversation. "Getting earth under your nails, too. Oh, it's one long struggle!"

"It's a good life," said Steel.

"It may be your idea of a good life. All I know is that it isn't mine. Fancy getting up in the middle of the night to help a sheep have a lamb! Well, I ask you!"

"That'll do!" said Ermyntrude. "There's no need to get coarse."

It was generally felt that the possibilities of farming as a topic for conversation had been exhausted. An uneasy silence fell. The Prince began to recall to Ermyntrude memories of Antibes. As Steel had not been there, he was unable to join in. He said that his own country was good enough for him, to which the Prince replied with suave courtesy that it might well be good enough for anyone.

A diversion was created by the sound of footsteps on the flagged terrace outside. The evening was so warm that the long windows had been left open behind the curtains. These parted suddenly, and a face looked in. "Hallo! Anyone at home?" inquired Harold White with ill-timed playfulness.