Summer Moonshine [antikvár]

' li CHAPTER ONE IT WAS A GLORIOUS MORNING OF BLUE AND GOLD, OF fleecy clouds and insects droning in the sunshine. What the weather-bulletin announcer of the British Broadcasting Corporation, who can turn a phrase as well as the next man, had called the ridge of high pressure extending over the greater part of the United Kingdom south of the Shetland Isles, still functioned unabated. Rabbits frisked in the hedgerows. Cows mused in the meadows. Water-voles sported along the river-banks. And moving a step higher in the animal kingdom, the paying-guests at Sir Buckstone Abbott's country seat, Walsingford Hall in the county of Berkshire, were all up and about, taking the air and enjoying themselves according to their various tastes and dispositions. Mr. Chinnery was playing croquet with Mrs. Folsom. Colonel Tanner was telling Mr. Waugh-Bonner about life in Poona, fortunate that he had started talking first and thus prevented Mr. Waugh-Bonner telling him about life in the Malay States. Mrs. Shepley was knitting a sock. Mr. Profitt, whose back-hand game needed polishing, was practising drives against a wall. Mr. Billing was having a sun-bath. And the stout young American, Tubby Vanring-ham, a towel about his neck, was crossing the terrace on his way down to the river. Prudence Whittaker, Sir Buckstone's invaluable secretary, came out of the house, tall and slender and elegant. Directing an austere look at Tubby's receding back, she spoke in a cold crisp voice which sounded in the drowsy stillness like ice tinkling in a pitcher: 'Mistah Vanringham.' The stout young man turned. He stopped, looked and stiffened, frigidly raising his eyebrows in a manner that indicated surprise and displeasure. After what had occurred a week ago, he had supposed that it was clearly understood between this girl and himself that they were no longer on speaking terms. 'Well?' he said distantly. 'Might I ask if you are going to bathe?' 'I am.'