There are moments and moments. The present one belonged to the morepainful variety.

　　Even to my exhausted mind it was plain that there was a need here forexplanations. An Irishman's croquet-lawn is his castle, and strangerscannot plunge in through hedges without inviting comment.

　　Unfortunately, speech was beyond me. I could have emptied a water-butt, laid down and gone to sleep, or melted ice with a touch of thefinger, but I could not speak. The conversation was opened by theother man, in whose restraining hand Aunt Elizabeth now lay, outwardlyresigned but inwardly, as I, who knew her haughty spirit, could guess,boiling with baffled resentment. I could see her looking out of thecorner of her eye, trying to estimate the chances of getting in onegood hard peck with her aquiline beak.

　　"Come right in," said the man pleasantly. "Don't knock."I stood there, gasping. I was only too well aware that I presented aquaint appearance. I had removed my hat before entering the hedge, andmy hair was full of twigs and other foreign substances. My face wasmoist and grimy. My mouth hung open. My legs felt as if they hadceased to belong to me.

　　"I must apol- . . ." I began, and ended the sentence with gulps.

　　The elderly gentleman looked at me with what seemed to be indignantsurprise. His daughter appeared to my guilty conscience to be lookingthrough me. Aunt Elizabeth sneered. The only friendly face was theman's. He regarded me with a kindly smile, as if I were some oldfriend who had dropped in unexpectedly.

　　"Take a long breath," he advised.

　　I took several, and felt better.

　　"I must apologise for this intrusion," I said successfully.

　　"Unwarrantable" would have rounded off the sentence neatly, but Iwould not risk it. It would have been mere bravado to attemptunnecessary words of five syllables. I took in more breath. "The factis, I did--didn't know there was a private garden beyond the hedge. Ifyou will give me my hen . . ."I stopped. Aunt Elizabeth was looking away, as if endeavouring tocreate an impression of having nothing to do with me. I am told by onewho knows that hens cannot raise their eyebrows, not having any; but Iam prepared to swear that at this moment Aunt Elizabeth raised hers. Iwill go further. She sniffed.

　　"Here you are," said the man. "Though it's hard to say good-bye."He held out the hen to me, and at this point a hitch occurred. He didhis part, the letting go, all right. It was in my department, thetaking hold, that the thing was bungled. Aunt Elizabeth slipped frommy grasp like an eel, stood for a moment eyeing me satirically withher head on one side, then fled and entrenched herself in some bushesat the end of the lawn.

　　There are times when the most resolute man feels that he can battle nolonger with fate; when everything seems against him and the onlycourse is a dignified retreat. But there is one thing essential to adignified retreat. You must know the way out. It was the lack of thatknowledge that kept me standing there, looking more foolish thananyone has ever looked since the world began. I could not retire byway of the hedge. If I could have leaped the hedge with a singledebonair bound, that would have been satisfactory. But the hedge washigh, and I did not feel capable at the moment of achieving a debonairbound over a footstool.