We lunched in a grove of chestnuts, and had tea in a blowing meadow beneath an oak. After tea we went for a walk. As we returned to the Roquefort, Agatha touched my arm. “Isn’t she a picture?” she said. I pushed back my hat. Such loyalty was out of my ken. “Oh, she looks all right,” I said faintly. “Tell me when you want your cheque back?” “She’s capricious,” said Agatha stoutly. “Many cars are. Besides, think of all she’s been through.” “She’s been through a good deal of water. I can’t think of anything else.” “No…
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