II
There was a feeling of relaxation¹ next day, which was a Sunday. Anafter-the-party feeling. On the lawn the marquee and tents flapped limplyin a damp breeze, awaiting removal by the caterer’s men at early dawn onthe morrow. On Monday we would all set to work to take stock of whatdamage had been done, and clear things up. Today, Rhoda had wisely de-cided, it would be better to go out as much as possible.
We all went to church, and listened respectfully to Mr. Dane Calthrop’sscholarly sermon on a text taken from Isaiah which seemed to deal lesswith religion than with Persian history.
“We’re going to lunch with Mr. Venables,” explained Rhoda afterwards.
“You’ll like him, Mark. He’s really a most interesting man. Been every-where and done everything. Knows all sorts of out-of-the-way things. Hebought Priors Court about three years ago. And the things he’s done to itmust have cost him a fortune. He had polio and is semi-crippled, so he hasto go about in a wheeled chair. It’s very sad for him because up to then hewas a great traveller, I believe. Of course he’s rolling in money, and, as Isay, he’s done up the house in a wonderful way—it was an absolute ruin,falling to pieces. It’s full of the most gorgeous stuff. The sale rooms are hisprincipal interest nowadays, I believe.”
Priors Court was only a few miles away. We drove there and our hostcame wheeling himself along the hall to meet us.
“Nice of you all to come,” he said heartily². “You must be exhausted³ afteryesterday. The whole thing was a great success, Rhoda.”
Mr. Venables was a man of about fifty, with a thin hawklike⁴ face and abeaked nose that stood out from it arrogantly⁵. He wore an open wing col-lar which gave him a faintly old-fashioned air.
Rhoda made introductions.
Venables smiled at Mrs. Oliver.
“I met this lady yesterday in her professional capacity,” he said. “Six ofher books with signatures. Takes care of six presents for Christmas. Greatstuff you write, Mrs. Oliver. Give us more of it. Can’t have too much of it.”
He grinned at

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