It's on my grounds actually, and it's quite empty just now...if it's any good to you."
"But, Mr. Persimmons, how charming of you!" Barbara cried. "That would be delightful and just the thing. Where do you live, by the way?"
"I've just taken a place in the country," Gregory answered, "in Hertfordshire, near a little village called Fardles. Indeed, I've only just moved in. It belonged to a Lady Sykes-Martindale, but she's been advised to go to Egypt for her health, and I took the house. So it's quite new to me. Adrian and I could explore it together."
"How splendid!" Barbara said. "But are you quite sure, Mr. Persimmons? I did want to get away, but we were giving up hope. Are you quite sure we shan't be intruding?"
"Not if you will let me see something of you there," Gregory assured her. "And, if Adrian liked me enough," he smiled at the boy, "you and your husband—" A motion of his hand threw England open to their excursions.
"It's very good of you, sir," Lionel began.
"Nonsense, nonsense," the other answered. "There's the cottage and here are you. I'll write about it. When do you go, Rackstraw? July? I'll write in a week or two, then. And now I must go and look at more figures. Good night, Mrs. Rackstraw. I shall see you again in five weeks or so. Good night, Adrian." He bowed down to shake the small hand. "Good night, Rackstraw. I'm delighted you'll come." He waved his hand generally and departed.
"What a divine creature!" Barbara said, going down the stairs. "Adrian darling, we're really going away. Would you like to go into the country?"
"Where is the country?" Adrian said.
"Oh—out there," Barbara said. "Away from the streets. With fields and cows."
"I don't like cows," Adrian said coldly.
"I daresay you won't see any," Lionel put in. "It does seem rather fortunate, Barbara."
"I think it's perfectly splendid," Barbara said joyously.
"Can I take my new train?" Adrian asked. And, in a whirl of assurances that he should take anything he liked or needed or had the slightest inclination to take, they came out into the hot June evening.
Chapter Four
THE FIRST ATTEMPT ON THEGRAAL
The Archdeacon of Castra Parvulorum returned to Fardles and his rectory on the next morning, for a few days' clearing up before he went on his holiday. After he had spent an hour or two in his study, he got up suddenly, and, going out of the house, took the private path that led through his garden and the churchyard to the small Norman Church. The memory of the article he had read in Mornington's office had grown more dominating as he returned to the place where, if Sir Giles Tumulty were right, the Graal, neglected and overlooked, stood in his sacristy.
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