Effie's further delight, in the form of another puppet from the pile, a still rosier imitation of it—anticipated quickly the challenge, which, as Paul saw, Mrs. Beever was on the point of addressing her.
"Our wonderful cake's not coming out?"
"It's too big to transport," said Mrs. Beever: "it's blazing away in the dining-room."
Jean Martle turned to Tony. "I may carry her in to see it?"
Tony assented. "Only please remember she's not to partake."
Jean smiled at him. "I'll eat her share!" And she passed swiftly over the lawn while the three pair of eyes followed her.
"She looks," said Tony, "like the goddess Diana playing with a baby-nymph."
Mrs. Beever's attention came back to her son. "That's the sort of remark one would expect to hear from you! You're not going with her?"
Paul showed vacant and vast. "I'm going in."
"To the dining-room?"
He wavered. "To speak to Miss Armiger."
His mother's gaze, sharpened and scared, had
