moons that lay on buttered toast before his brother, and then attacked his Sally Lunn and raspberry jam.
"What is that you have?" asked Renny, looking down his nose at Alayne's cake and ice-cream.
"You seem to forget," she replied, "that I am an American, and that I haven't tasted our national sweet for months."
"I wish you would let me order an egg for you," he returned, seriously. "It would be much more staying."
Eden interrupted: "Do you know, brother Renny, you smell most horribly horsey?"
"No wonder. I've been embracing the sweetest filly you ever saw. She's going to be mine, too. What a neck! What flanks! And a hide like brown satin." He stopped dipping a strip of toast into the yolk of an egg to gaze ecstatically into space.
Alayne gave way. She stared at him, drank in the sight of the firelight on his carved, weather-beaten face, lost herself in the depths of his unseeing eyes.
"Always horses, never girls," Eden was saying rather thickly, through jam. "I believe you dream o' nights of a wild mane whipping your face, and a pair of dainty hoofs pawing your chest. What a bedfellow, eh, brother Renny?" His tone was affectionate and yet touched by the patronage of the intellectual toward the man who is interested only in active pursuits.
"I can think of worse," said Renny, grinning.
Safe from the wind and rain, the three talked, laughed, and poured amber cups of tea from fat green pots. Golden beads of butter oozed through the pores of toasted Sally Lunns and dimpled on little green plates. Plump currants tumbled from slices of fruit-cake; and Alayne gave her share of icing to Eden. A pleasant hum of careless chatter buzzed around them.
"By the way," said Eden, "Evans wants me to stop
