"Buckingham, stupid!"

"Well, Buckingham, then, has his points. Whom does he espouse?"

"He doesn't espouse anyone."

"Whom does he love, then?"

Berry and Daphne looked uneasily at one another. I turned to Jonah, who was deep in The Sportsman.

"Who's Buckingham in love with, Jonah"

"Down and four to play. What?" said that worthy.

"Oh, Buckingham? He's hanging round the Queen mostly, I think, but he's got two or three other irons in the fire."

"I will play Hurl—Buckingham," said I.

When Berry had finished, I reminded him that he had suggested the part, and that my mind was made up.

After a lengthy argument, in the course of which Berry drew a stage on the table-cloth to show why it was I couldn't act:

"Oh, well, I suppose he'd better play it," said Daphne: "but I scent trouble."

"That's right," I said. "Let me have a copy of the play."

Berry rose and walked towards the door. With his fingers on the handle, he turned.

"If you don't know what some of the hard words mean," he said, "I shall be in the library."

"Why in the library?" said Daphne.

"I'm going to write in another scene."

"Another scene?"

"Well, an epilogue, then."

"What's it going to be?"

"Buckingham's murder," said Berry. "I can see it all. It will be hideously realistic. All women and children will have to leave the theatre."

As he went out:

"I expect the Duke will fight desperately," said I.

Berry put his head round the door.

"No," he said, "that's the dastardly part of it. It is from behind that his brains are dashed out with a club."

I stretched out my hand for a roll.

"Do you know how a log falls?" said Berry. "Because, if—"

I could not get Daphne to see that, if Berry had not withdrawn his head, the roll would not have hit the Sargent. However.

The good works of which Daphne is sometimes full occasionally overflow and deluge those in her immediate vicinity. Very well, then. A local institution, whose particular function has for the moment escaped me, suddenly required funds. Perhaps I should say that it was suddenly noised abroad that this was the case, for it was one of the kind that is always in this uncomfortable plight. If one day someone were to present it with a million pounds and four billiard tables, next week we should be asked to subscribe to a fund to buy it a bagatelle board. At any rate, in a burst of generosity, Daphne had undertaken that we would get up a show. When she told us of her involving promise, we were appalled.

"A show?" gasped Jonah.

"Yes," said Berry. "You know, a show—, display. We are to exhibit us to a horrified assembly."

"But, Daphne darling," said Jill. "What have you done?"

"It's all right," said my sister. "We can do a play. A little one, you know, and the Merrows will help."

"Of course," said Berry. "Some telling trifle or other. Can't we dramatize 'The Inchcape Rock'?"

"Excellent," said I. "I should like to play the abbot. It would be rather suitable, too. If you remember, 'they blest the Abbot of Aberbrothok."'

"Why not?" said Berry. "We could have a very fervent little scene with them all blessing you."

"And perhaps Heath Robinson would paint the scenery."

And so on.

In the end, Berry and Jonah had constructed quite a passable little drama, by dint of drawing largely on Dumas in the first place, and their own imagination in the second. There were one or two strong situations, relieved by some quite creditable light comedy, and all the 'curtains' were good. The village hall, complete with alleged stage, was engaged, and half the county were blackmailed into taking tickets. There were only twelve characters, of which we accounted for five, and it was arranged that we should all twelve foregather four days beforehand, to rehearse properly. The other seven artists were to stay with us at White Ladies for the rehearsals and performance, and generally till the affair had blown over.

It was ten days before the date of the production that I was cast for Buckingham. Six days to become word perfect. When three of them had gone, I explained to the others that, for all their jealousy, they would find that I should succeed in getting into the skin of the part, and that, as it was impossible to polish my study of George Villiers in the teeth of interference which refused to respect the privacy even of my own bedroom, I should go apart with Pomfret, and perfect my rendering in the shelter of the countryside.

"Have pity upon our animal life!" cried Berry, when I made known my intention. "Consider the flora and fauna of our happy shire!"

"Hush, brother," said I. "You know not what you say. I shall not seek the fields. Rather—"

"That's something. We don't want you hauled up for sheep-worrying just now."

"—shall I repair to some sequestered grove. There, when I shall commune with myself, Nature will go astray. Springtime will come again. Trees will break forth into blossom, meadows will blow anew, and the voice of the turtle—"

"If you don't ring off," said Berry. "I'll set George at you."

George is our gorgonzola, which brings me back to Pomfret. Pomfret is a little two-seater. I got him because I thought he'd be so useful just to run to and fro when the car was out. And he is. We made friends at Olympia, and I took to him at once. A fortnight later, Jill was driving him delightedly round and round in front of the house. After watching her for a while, Berry got in and sat down by her side.

"Not that I want a drive," he explained carefully; "but I want to see if my dressing-case will be able to stand it as far as the station."

"If you think" I began, but the next moment Jill had turned down the drive, and I watched the three go curling out of sight.

When they returned, half an hour later, Berry unreservedly withdrew his remark about the dressing-case, and the next day, when Daphne suggested that Pomfret should bear a small basket of grapes to the vicarage, he told her she ought to be ashamed of herself.

From that day Pomfret was one of us.

And now, with three days left to learn my words, and a copy of the play in my pocket, I drove forth into the countryside. When I had idly covered about twenty miles, I turned down a little lane and pulled up by the side of a still wood. I stopped the engine and listened. Not a sound. I left the road and strolled in among the trees till I came to where one lay felled, making a little space. It was a sunshiny morning in October, and summer was dying hard. For the most part, the soft colourings of autumn were absent, and, as if loyal to their old mistress, the woods yet wore the dear green livery, faded a little, perhaps, but the more grateful because it should so soon be laid aside. The pleasant place suited my purpose well, and for twenty minutes I wrestled with the powerful little scene Jonah had written between the Queen and Buckingham. By the end of that time I knew it fairly well, so I left it for a while and stealthily entered the old oak chamber—Act III, Scene I—by the secret door behind the arras. After bringing down the curtain with two ugly looks, four steps, and a sneer, I sat down on the fallen beech-tree, lighted a cigarette, and wondered why I had rejected the post of call-boy. Then I started on the love-scene again.

"'Madam, it is said that I am a harsh man. I am not harsh to every one. Better for me, perhaps, if I were; yet so God made me.'"

"When do you open?"

"That's wrong," said I. "'Can you be gentle, then?' comes after that. Now, however, that you have shattered the atmosphere I had created—of course, I think you're absolutely beautiful, and, if you'll wait a second, I'll get Pomfret's rug."

"I don't know what you mean, but thanks all the same, and if Pomfret doesn't mind, this tree is rather grubby."

I got the rug and spread it on the fallen trunk for her. She was what the Irish are popularly believed to call 'a shlip of a ghirl,' clad in a dark blue riding-habit that fitted her slim figure beautifully. No hat covered her thick, blue-black hair, which was parted in the middle and loosely knotted behind. Here and there a wisp of it was in the act of escaping. I watched them greedily. Merry grey eyes and the softest colouring, with a small red mouth, ready to join the eyes in their laughter if its owner listed. She was wearing natty little patent-leather boots, and her hunting hat and crop lay on the log by her side. She sat down and began to pull the gloves off a pair of small brown hands.

"Do you know if cats ever drink water?" she said musingly.

"From what I remember of last year's statistics, there was, I believe, a marked decrease in the number of alcoholism cases reported as occurring amongst that species. I'm speaking off-hand, you know."

"Never mind that: it's very good hearing."

"I know, and, talking of tight-ropes, Alice, have you seen the March Hare lately?"

She threw her head back and laughed merrily. Then—

"We are fools, you know," she said.

"Perhaps. Still, a little folly—"

"Is a dangerous thing. And, now, when do you open?"

"To-morrow week. And, owing to the iniquitous provisions of the new Shops Act, foisted by a reckless Government upon a—"

"You can cut that bit."

"Thank you. We close the same night."

"Positively for one performance only?"

"Exactly. And that's why I shall only just be able to get you a seat."

"You needn't trouble."

"What! Don't you want to come?"

"Is it going to be very good?"

"Good? My dear Alice, we shall that night light such a candle as shall never be put out. Electric light is doomed. The knell of acetylene gas has sounded."

"You've only got a few lines, I suppose?"

I looked at her sorrowfully.

"Whose rug is she sitting on?" I said.

"Pomfret's."

"Pomfret is but the bailee of the rug, Alice."

"Oh," she cried, "he's going to be a barrister!"

"Talking of cats," I said stiffly, "and speaking as counsel of five years' standing—"

I stopped, for she was on her feet now, facing me, and standing very close, with her hands behind her and a tilted chin, looking into my eyes.

"Talking of what, did you say?"

For a second I hesitated. Then:

"Gnats," I said.

She turned and resumed her place on the fallen tree. "Now you're going on with your rehearsal," she announced. "I'll hear you."

"Will you read the cues?"

"Give me the book."

I showed her the point I had reached when she entered.

"You are the Queen," I said. "It's rather confusing, because I had thought you were Alice; but it can't be helped. Besides, you came on just before you did, really, and you've spoken twice before you opened your small red mouth."

"Is that how it describes the Queen?" This suspiciously.

"I was really thinking of Alice, but—"

"But what?"

"The Queen has got a delicate, white throat. It says so."

"How can you tell? I've got a stock on."

"I said the Queen had. Besides, when you put your face up to mine just now—"

"Hush! Besides, you were looking me in the eyes all the time, so—"

"And, if I was, do you blame me?"

"I'm not in the witness-box now, counsel."

"No, but you're sitting on Pomfret's rug, and Pomfret is but the—"

She began to laugh helplessly.

"Come along, Alice," I said. "'Yet so God made me. Now you say, 'Can you be gentle, then?' and give me the glad eye.

"It only says 'archly' here, in brackets."

"Same thing," said I

"'Can you be gentle, then?'"

A pause. Then:

"Go on," she said.

"I'm waiting for my cue."

"I've said it—Hare."

"John or March?"

"March, of course. John is an actor."

"Thank you, Alice, dear. I repeat, I await my cue, the which you incontinently withhold. Selah!"

She tried not to laugh.

"I've given it, you silly man."

"My dear, I come in on the eye. It's most important. You must give it to me, because I've got to give it back to you in a second or two."

She gave it me exquisitely.

"'There are with whom I can be more than gentle, madam.'"

Here I returned the eye with vigour.

"'What manner of men are these you favour?'"

"'They are not men, madam. Neither are they favoured of me.

"'Of whom, then?'"

"'Of Heaven, madam, and at birth. I mean fair women."'

"Such as—"

"'Such as you, madam.'"

The way she said 'Hush!' at that was a flash of genius. It was indescribably eloquent. She forbade and invited in the same breath. It was wonderful, and it made me Buckingham. And Buckingham it brought to her feet. Little wonder. It would have brought a cardinal. In the passionate rhetoric of my lines I wooed her, sitting there on the tree trunk, her head thrown back, eyes closed, lips parted, and always the faint smile that sends a man mad. I never had to tell her to rise. To the line she swayed towards me. To the line she slipped into my arms. She even raised her lips to mine at the last. Then, as I stooped for the kiss, she placed her two small hands firmly on my face and pushed me away.

"Very nice, indeed," she said. "You know your lines well, and you know how to speak them. Hare, I think you're going to be rather good."

I wiped the perspiration off my forehead.

"You made me good, then. I shall never give such a show again."

"Of course you will."

"Never! Never, Alice! But you—you're wonderful. Good Heavens, lass, this might be the two hundredth night you'd played the part. Are you some great one I've not recognized? And will you sign a picture-postcard for our second housemaid—the one who saw 'Buzz-Buzz' eighteen times?"

"What! Not the one with fair hair?"

"And flat feet? The very one. Junket, her name is. By Curds out of Season. My mistake. I was thinking of our beagle. Don't think I'm quite mad. I'm only drunk. You're the wine."

"The Queen is, you mean."

"No, no—you, Alice."

She looked at her wrist-watch.

"Oh, all right," I said. "The Queen's the wine, the play's the thing. Anything you like. Only I'm tired of play-acting, and I only want to talk to Alice. Come and let me introduce Pomfret."

"He hasn't been here all the time?"

"Waiting in the road."

"Oh, he's a horse."

I laughed by way of answer, and we walked to where Pomfret stood, patient, immobile. I introduced him elaborately. My lady swept him a curtsey.

"I have to thank you for lending me your rug, Pomfret," she said.

I replied for the little chap:

"It's not my rug; I am but the bail—"

"That's all right. Is your master nice to you?"

"But yes, lady. Don't you like him?"

"He seems to mean well."

"Isn't that rather unkind?" said Pomfret.

"I'm not in the witness-box now."

"Then there's no reason why you shouldn't tell the truth."

"Really, Pomfret!"

"Forgive me, Alice. I'm only a young car, and sometimes, when the petrol gets into my tank—"

"I hope you don't take more than you should."

"I'm sober enough to see you've got a fine pair of headlights."

"I'm afraid you're of rather a coming-on disposition, Pomfret."

"Oh, I can do my thirty-five. His licence will show you that.

"Oh, Pomfret, did you get it endorsed?"

"It was his own fault. Kept egging me on all the time, and then, when we were stopped, tells the police that it's a physical impossibility for me to do more than fifteen. And I had to stand there and hear him say it! He told me afterwards that it was only a facon de parler, but I was angry. I simply shook with anger, the radiator was boiling, too, and one of the tires burst with rage."

"And I suppose the petrol pipe was choked with emotion."

"And the engine almost throttled in consequence. But that is another story. And now, won't you let me take you for a little run? My clutch is not at all fierce."

My companion leaned against Pomfret's hood and laughed.

"He's a bit of a nut, isn't he?" said I.

"Do you think he's quite safe?"

"Rather! Besides, I shall be with you."

"That's not saying much."

"Thank you. And talking of gurnats—"

"Where will you take me?"

"Whithersoever she listed."

"Is it far from here to Tendon Harrow?"

"About sixteen miles."

"Would you mind, Hare?"

"You know I'd love it."

I started up Pomfret, and we settled ourselves in the car. As luck would have it, I had a second coat with me, and she said she was quite warm and comfortable.

Presently she told me all that had happened. In the morning she had ridden alone to hounds. The meet had been at Will Cross. The mare was keen, and for a few miles all went well. Then the hounds had split. Most of the field had followed the master, but she and a few others had followed the huntsman. After a while she had dropped a little behind. Then there had been a check. She had seized upon the opportunity it afforded her to slip off and tighten her girths.

"Wasn't there any man there to—"

"Wait. The next second the hounds picked up the scent again, and, before I knew where I was, the mare had jerked the bridle out of my hand and was half-way across the first field."

"And didn't anyone catch her?"

"The man who caught her is a brute. He would have wanted to tighten my girths for me, and that's why I dropped behind. I felt it would be him, so I slid out of sight behind a hedge, and when I saw it was him coming back with her, I didn't want his smile, so I just ran into the woods and started to walk home."

"Did he see you?"

"No. He may be there still, for all I know."

"He must have been having a roaring time leading the mare about all day."

"I hope it'll teach him not to pester a girl again."

I sighed. "Some of us are brutes, aren't we?"

"Yes."

A pause. Then:

"But some men have been very nice to me."

"The devil they have!" said I.

Here, as certain of our own writers say and have said, a gurgle of delight escaped her. I leaned forward and grabbed at something, caught and handed it to her. She stared at my empty palm.

"Your gurgle, I think."

"Oh," she said, laughing, "you are mad. But I like you. Now, why is that?"

"Personal charm," said I. "The palmist who sits where the draughts are in the Brown Park Hotel, West Central, said I had a magnetism of my own."

"There you are. I never believed in palmistry."

"She also told me to beware of lifts, and a fellow trod on one of my spats in the one at Dover Street the very next morning. Hullo!"

Pomfret slowed gradually down and stopped. I turned to the girl.

"This is what we pay the boy sixteen shillings a week for."

"What's the matter?"

"Petrol's run out. I'm awfully sorry. The silly serf must have forgotten to fill up before I started."

"My dear Hare, what shall we do?"

I made a rapid calculation.

"We can't be more than a quarter of a mile from Fell. In fact, I'm almost sure it's at the foot of the next hill. Yes, I know it is. And if we can get Pomfret to the crest of this rise, it's all down-hill from there to the village. Shall we try, Alice?"

"Rather!"

She got out, and I followed. Fortunately the slope was a gentle one, and, without much of the harder labour, we managed to top the rise. Then we got in again, and began to descend the hill. When the brakes failed, one after another, I was, if possible, more pained than surprised. I rebuked Pomfret and turned to my companion:

"Do you mind making ready to die?" I said. "I'm sorry, but if we don't take the next corner, I'm afraid we shall be what is called 'found later'."

We took it on two wheels, and I then ran Pomfret's near front wheel on to the low bank by the side of the road.

"Put your arms round my neck," I cried.

She did so, and the next moment we plunged into the bushes. I heard a wing snap, and the car seemed to mount a little into the air; then we stopped at a nasty angle, for the off hind wheel was yet in the channel. I breathed a sigh of relief. Then, still grasping the wheel, I looked down at my left shoulder.

"I love Harris tweeds," said the girl quietly. "It's just as well, isn't it?"

All things considered, it was. Her nose was embedded in the cloth about two inches above my left breast-pocket. In silence I kissed her hair four times. Then:

"I confess," I said, that the real blue-black hair has always been a weakness of mine.

At that she struggled to rise, but the angle was against her, and, honestly, I couldn't do much. The next minute she had found the edge of the wind-screen—fortunately open at the time of the accident—and had pulled herself off me.

"My hair must have been—"

"Almost in my mouth," I said. "Exactly. I have been—"

"What?"

"Licking it, my dear. It's awfully good for hair, you know—imparts a gloss-like and silky appearance. Besides, since—"

"Idiot!"

I climbed gingerly out of the car, and then helped her into the bushes.

"Suffering from shock, Alice? I'm really devilish sorry."

"Not a bit. It wasn't your fault. Between you and me, Hare, I think you managed it wonderfully."

"Thank you, Alice. That's very sweet of you."

"I hope Pomfret isn't much hurt."

"The little brute. Only a wing, I think. Look here, if we walk into the village, you can have some lunch—you must want it—at the inn, while I get some help to get him out."

Just at the foot of the hill we came upon 'The Old Drum,' its timbered walls showing white behind the red screen of its Virginia creeper. When I had escorted my lady into the little parlour, I sought the kitchen. I could hardly believe my ears when the comfortable mistress of the house told me that at that very moment a toothsome duck was roasting, and that it would and should be placed before us in a quarter of an hour. Without waiting to inquire whom we were about to deprive of their succulent dish, I hastened with the good news to my companion.

"Splendid!" she said.

"You don't mind waiting?"

"I should have waited for you, anyway. Now go and retrieve Pomfret; you've just got time."

To the two husbandmen I found in the bar, the idea of earning twopence a minute for a quarter of an hour appealed so strongly that they did not wait to finish the ale I had ordered for them, and the feats of strength they performed in persuading Pomfret to return to the path from which he had strayed made me ache all over. The result was that the car was in the yard before the duck had left the oven, and I was able to have a wash at the pump before luncheon was served. Pomfret had come off very lightly, on the whole. Except for the broken wing, a fair complement of scratches, and the total wreck of one of the lamps, he seemed to have taken no hurt.

So it happened that Alice and I lunched together. I think we were both glad of the food. When it was over, I lighted her cigarette, and drew her attention to the oleograph, which pictured Gideon's astonishment at the condition of what, on examination, proved to be a large fleece. Out of perspective in the background a youth staggered under a pile of first-fruits.

"No wayside inn parlour is complete without one such picture," said I. "As a rule, we are misled about Moses. This, however, is of a later school. Besides, this is really something out of the common."

"Why?"

"Well, that's not Gideon really, but Garrick as Gideon. Very rare. And that with the first-fruits is Kean as—

"Yes?"

"As Ever," I went on hurriedly; "Gideon's great pal, you know, brother of Always. And Mrs. Siddons—"

"Who made her debut six years after Garrick's farewell...And you're all wrong about Kean. But don't let me stop you. Which is Nell Gwynne?"

"Nelly? Ah, no, she isn't in the picture. But she stopped here once—for lunch—quite by chance and unattended, save for a poor fool she had found in the forest. Hunting she had been, and had lost her horse, and he brought her on her way on a pillion. Be sure he rode with his chin on his shoulder all the time. She never said who she was, but he knew her for some great lady, for all his dullness. Ah, Nell, you—she was very sweet to him: let him see the stars in her eyes, let him mark the blue cloud of her hair, suffered him to sit by her side at their meal, gave him of her fair company, and—and, like them all, he loved her. All the time, too—from the moment when he turned and saw her standing there by the fallen tree in the forest, with her loose hair scrambling over her temples—scrambling to see the stars in her eyes. The day passed, and then another; and then the weeks and months, and presently the years, very slowly. But always the fool saw her standing there in the sunshine, with the dear, faint smile on her lips, and the bright memory of her eyes lighted his path when the way was dark, and he might have stumbled, always, always."

I stopped. She was looking away out of the latticed window up at the clear blue sky—looking with the look that is blind and seeth nothing. I came round to the back of her chair and put my hands on her shoulders.

"We never finished our scene," I said gently.

"No?"

"No. You pushed me away."

"Did I?"

A pause. Then:

"May I finish it now?" I said.

"I expect," she said slowly, "I expect you know that bit all right."

"I shall cut it on the night of the performance."

She leaned right back in her chair and looked steadily up into my eyes. I bent over her.

"You'll do nothing of the sort," she said firmly. "She may be—"

"A goddess. But she won't be you."

"No?" she smiled.

"Never, Alice."

"Promise me you'll not cut it on the night."

I groaned.

"But—" I faltered.

"Promise."

"Oh, all right! But I shall hate it, Alice, hate—"

"A present for a good Hare," she said softly, and raised her lips to mine.

On examination Pomfret proved to be practically unhurt, and I was able to get some petrol in the village; but naturally I didn't dare to drive him without seeing to the brakes. It was impossible for my companion to wait while I rectified the trouble, but we managed to raise what had once been a dog-cart, and in that she left for Tendon Harrow. She left, I say, for she would not let me come with her. She was so firm. I implored her, but it was no good. She simply would not be entreated, and I had to content myself with putting her carefully in and watching her drive away in the care of a blushing half-boots, half-ostler, who could not have been more than eighteen.

I got home about six.

"Where on earth have you been?" said Daphne, as I entered the smoking-room.

"Ask Pomfret," said I. "He's in disgrace."

"You haven't hurt him?"

"He nearly killed me."

"What happened"

"Lost his temper just because the petrol ran out. Believe me, a horrid exhibition. Absolutely let himself go. In other words, the brakes failed, and I had to run him into the bushes. One lamp and one wing broken, otherwise unhurt. To adjusting brakes—materials, nil; labour, three hours at a drink an hour, three pints ale. Oh, rotten, my dear, rotten!"

I sank into a chair.

"Meanwhile, we've had to entertain the Wilson crowd. I suppose you forgot they were coming?"

"I was with you in spirit."

"In beer, you mean," said Berry. "Look here, I knew you when you were seven, before you had put off the white mantle of innocence and assumed the cloak of depravity. It has been my unhappy lot to be frequently in your company ever since, and, speaking from a long and distasteful experience of you and your ways, I am quite satisfied that, if you did meet with some slight contretemps, you made no whole-hearted effort to rejoin us in time to degrade your intellect by discussing the sort of topics which appeal to that genus of hopeless wasters which the Wilsons adorn."

"Was it very bad?" said I.

"Bad?" said Jonah. "Bad? When a woman with six male children leads off by telling you that she keeps a book in which she has faithfully recorded all the amusing sayings of her produce up to the age of seven, it's pretty bad, isn't it?"

"Not really?"

"Fact," said Berry. "She quoted a lot of them. One of the more nutty was a contribution from Albert on seeing his father smoking for the first time. 'Mother, is daddy on fire' Now, that really happened. We had about half an hour of the book. Jonah asked her why she didn't publish it, and she nearly kissed him. It was terrible."

"To make things worse," said Jonah, "they brought Baldwin and Arthur with them, as specimens of what they could do in the child line."

"How awful!" said I

"It was rather trying," said Berry. "But they were all right as soon as we turned them on to the typewriter."

"What!" I gasped.

"Oh, we had little or no trouble with them after that."

"Quiet as mice," said Jonah.

"Do you know that machine cost me twenty-five pounds?" I cried.

"The jam'll wash off," said Berry. "You don't know how easily jam comes off. Why, I've known..."

"If I thought you really had turned them on to the typewriter, I should never forgive you."

"You oughtn't to say a thing like that, even in jest," said Berry; "it isn't Christian. I tell you for your good."

"Seriously, you didn't do such a wicked thing? Hullo, where is it?"

"They're going to bring it back on Wednesday. I said they couldn't have it more than a week."

I glanced at Jill, who was standing by the window. Her left eyelid flickered, and I knew it was all right.

"Well, I can't help it," I said, sinking back into my chair and lighting a cigarette.

"Poor old chap!" said Daphne. "I believe you thought we had done you down."

"Of course I didn't. Is it to-morrow you've got to go up to Town, Jill?"

"Yes, Boy. Are you going up, too?"

"Must. I'll give you lunch at the Berkeley if you like, dear."

Jill came across and laid her cheek against mine.

"I always like Boy, because he's grateful," she said gently.

Three days later our fellow-mummers began to arrive. A deep melancholy had settled upon me. I cursed the play, I cursed the players, I cursed my part, and most of all I cursed the day which had seen me cast for Buckingham. Whenever I picked up the book, I saw my queen, Alice, standing there by the fallen tree or sitting looking up at me as I bent over her chair in the parlour of 'The Old Drum'. And now her place was to be taken, usurped by another—a Miss Tanyon—whom I hated terribly, though I didn't know her, and the very idea of whom was enough to kill any dramatic instinct I once seemed to possess. Whenever I remembered my promise to Alice, I writhed. So odious are comparisons.

When Daphne announced that the wretched woman was coming by the five-fourteen, and that she should go with the car to meet her, and added that I had better come, too, I refused point-blank.

"I don't know what's the matter with you," said my sister. "Don't you want to see the girl you'll have to play the love-scene with?"

This about finished me, and I laughed bitterly.

"No," I said, "I'm damned if I do."

When Daphne pressed her point as only Daphne can, I felt really too timid and bored with the whole affair to argue about it, so I gave way. Accordingly, at ten minutes past five, I stood moodily on the platform by my sister's side. The train steamed in, and the passengers began to alight. Daphne scanned them eagerly.

"I don't see her," she said half to herself.

We were standing half-way down the platform, and I turned and looked listlessly towards the front of the train. That end of the platform was empty except for two people. One was a stoker who had stepped off the foot-plate. The other was Alice. She was in blue still—a blue coat and skirt, with a fox fur about her shoulders. A small, blue felt hat was somewhat shading her eyes, but I could see she was looking at me and smiling. I forgot all about Miss Tanyon—she simply didn't matter now.

Involuntarily:

"Why. there's the Queen!" I cried, and started towards her.

"Where?" said Daphne.

"Here," I flung over my shoulder.

A four-wheeled truck of luggage, propelled by a porter across my bows, blocked my way for a moment, and Daphne overtook me.

"So it is," she said. "But how did you know?"



CHAPTER XII

THE ORDER OF THE BATH

Berry blotted the letter with maddening precision. Then he picked it up tenderly and handed it to me.

"How will that do?"

"Read it aloud," said Daphne.

I did so.

"Dear Sir,—In the interests of personal cleanliness, we have—not without considerable hesitation—decided to install a fourth bathroom at our historic home, 'White Ladies'. This decision will necessitate the loss or conversion of one of the dressing-rooms, a fact which fills us with the gravest misgivings, since there are only eleven in the whole mansion. At the same time, thee conventions of a prudish age make it undesirable that a second bath should be installed in one of the rooms already existing for that purpose. We think the fourth room on your right, as you leave the back stairs, going south. This is locally known as the Green Room and takes its name, not, as you may imagine, from the fact that the late Sir Henry Irving once slept there, but from the hue of the rodents, said there frequently to have been observed by the fourth Earl. Please execute the work with your customary diligence. We should like to pay on the hire system, i.e., so much a month, extending over a period of two years. The great strides, recently made in the perilous art of aviation, suggest to us that the windows should be of ground glass. Yours faithfully, etc. P.S.—If your men drop the bath on the stairs, the second footman will at once apply for a warrant for their arrest."

Jill buried her face in the sofa-cushions and gave way to unrestrained merriment. Jonah laughed openly. I set my teeth and tried not to smile. For an instant the corners of Daphne's mouth twitched. Then:

"Wretched ass," she said.

"The truth is," said her husband, "you don't know literature when you see it. Now that letter—"

"I suppose I shall have to write to the man," said I.

"There you are," said Berry. "Insults at every turn. I was about to say that I regarded that letter as one of the brightest jewels in an already crowded diadem."

"Give me the writing-block," I said shortly, producing my fountain-pen. I turned to Daphne. "What sort of a bath d'you want?"

"Porcelain-enamel, they call it, don't they?" she replied vaguely, subjecting a box of chocolates to a searching cross-examination.

Berry rose to his feet and cleared his throat. Then he sang lustily:

"What of the bath? The bath was made of porcelain, Of true ware, of good ware, The ware that won't come off."

A large cushion sailed into his face. As it fell to the ground, Berry seized it and held it at arm's length.

"Ha," he said rapturously. "A floral tribute. They recognize my talent."

"Not at all," said Jonah. "I only threw that, because the dead cats haven't come."

"Exactly," said I. "We all know you ought to be understudying at the Hoxton Empire, but that's no reason why we should be subjected—"

"Did you notice the remarkable compass of my voice?" said Berry, sinking into a chair.

"I did," said I. "I should box it, if I were you, brother. Bottle it, if you prefer."

"Poor fool," said my brother-in-law. "For the trumpet notes, to which it has just been your privilege to listen, there is a great future. In short, my voice is futurist. The moment they hear it, the few who have paid for their seats will realize what the box-office will say when they demand the return of their money."

"And those who have not paid?" said I.

"Oh, they will understand why they were given tickets."

"Suppose you write that letter," said Daphne wearily.

I bent over the writing-block.

"You know," said Berry, "I don't think this bath's at all necessary."

At this there was a great uproar. At length:

"Besides," said my sister, "we all decided that we must have another bath ages ago. The only question there's ever been was where to put it."

"Of course," said I. "If we don't, where are we going to dip the sheep?"

"Well, I think it's a shame to pull the old place about like this. If we're so awfully dirty, we'd better find another house that's got four bathrooms already, and sell White Ladies."

"Sell White Ladies?" cried Jill.

Berry nodded.

"Not only lock and stock, but barrel too. Yes," he added bitterly, "the old water-butt must go."

"Look here," said I. "It occurs to me that this isn't a case for a letter. We ought to go and choose a bath properly."

"That's rather an idea," said Daphne.

"Simply sparkling," said her husband. "Personally, I've got something better to do than to burst down to South London, and stagger round floor after floor, staring at baths."

"You needn't worry," said Daphne coolly. "I wouldn't go with you for a hundred pounds."

Berry turned to us others.

"Yet we love one another," he said, with a leer in his wife's direction. "In reality I am the light of her eyes. The acetylene gas, as it were, of her existence. Well, well." He rose and stretched himself. "I wash my hands of the whole matter. Note the appropriate simile. Install what cistern you please. If approached properly, I may consent to test the work when complete. Mind you spare no expense."

"We don't propose to," said Daphne.

Berry regarded her sorrowfully.

"I suppose," he said, "I suppose you know what word will be found at the post-mortem graven upon my heart?"

"What?" said Daphne, stifling a yawn.

"Plunge."

It was quite a good day to choose a bath. True, it was winter. But then the sun was shining out of a clear, blue sky, there was a rare freshness in the London air, and beneath me—for I was crossing Westminster Bridge—old Thames marched all a-glitter. I watched his passage gratefully. It was that of a never-ending band. Playing all the way, too, but silently. Yet, the music was there. The pity was that one could not hear it. The pomp, the swagger, the swing of the Guards, the shifting movement, the bright array—all these were unmistakable. The very lilt of the air made itself felt. Very cheery. Certainly, the river was en fete.

It had been arranged that the selection of an appropriate bath should be made by Daphne, Jonah, and me. When I came down to breakfast to find that Jonah had already left for Huntercombe, I was more hurt than surprised. But, when Daphne appeared during the marmalade, clad in a new riding-habit, I made haste to empty my mouth.

"You can't ride there," I said. "The traffic's too heavy. Besides, the tram-lines—"

"You don't want me, old chap," said my sister, stooping to lay her soft cheek against mine, as she passed to her place.

I drank some coffee with an injured air. Then:

"This," I said, "is low down. Not nice. I don't like it in you. It argues—"

"—the confidence we repose in your judgment," said Daphne.

"Yes, brother," said Berry, looking up from The Sportsman. "The bath-dressing-gown has fallen upon your rounded shoulders. Ill though it becomes you, I trust that—"

"Enough," said I. "Alone I will select a bath. Doubtless you will all deplore my choice as bitterly as you will fight with one another for the privilege of using it. However. When I am dead, you will regret—"

"No, we shan't," said my brother-in-law. "We shall just bury you under another name and try to keep the obituary notices out of the papers."

I sat back in my chair and frowned. "Be good enough to pass the rolls," said I.

"You've only had four," said Berry, pushing them across. "Mind you get a good lunch at Lambeth. I'm told they do you very well at 'The Three Balls.'

"When I'm choosing a bath," said I, "I always lunch at 'The Rising Spray.'" And now, here I was, afoot upon Westminster Bridge bound for the warehouse of the firm we proposed to honour with our patronage.

I passed on into the roar of the crowded streets, and a quarter of an hour later I reached the place I sought.

Almost immediately the office-boy took me for a commercial traveller and refused point-blank to announce my arrival. I told him that I had an appointment.

"Yes," he said pleasantly. "They all 'as."

"Friend," said I, "I see that you are bent on gaining the feathered fowl. In other words, if I'm kept waiting much longer you'll get the bird."

"I don't think," he replied somewhat uneasily.

"That," said I, "is what I complain of."

I seated myself on a table and lighted a cigarette. Then:

"I wonder how he'll like his new place," I said, apostrophizing the skylight.

A pause. Then:

"Of corse, the guv'nor might be in," said the youth. "Yer never knows."

"Speak for yourself," said I. "At the same time, you appear to be doing what you conceive to be your duty. And for those who do their duty, there is always a shilling in the left-hand trouser-pocket—"

But the boy was half-way upstairs. I had proved my identity.

Five minutes later one of the partners was conducting me in the direction of the baths.

Now he had twice begged me to be careful not to hit my head, for he led me through divers dark, low-pitched corridors. Especially divers. I remembered his warning about a fifth of a second too late.

When we at length emerged again into the broad light of day, I contemplated my new bowler in some annoyance. It was bashed in properly. A large dent—in shape somewhat resembling the Empire of India—leered at me, its edges generously defined with whitewash. Very trying.

My good host was greatly concerned, and begged to be allowed to take the damaged headgear away and have it brushed. After a little I consented, promising to walk round and look at the baths while he was gone. The next moment he had disappeared.

I laid my stick and gloves on a glass-topped table and looked about me. Never before had I seen so many baths gathered together. Large and small, deep and shallow, normal and abnormal, they stood orderly in long lines. The more elaborate ones, fitted with screens and showers, douches, etc., stood a little apart upon a baize-covered dais, bright with their glistening pipes and rows of taps. And in an alcove, all glorious, electric light burning above its gold-lacquered fittings, reposed the bath of baths, a veritable monarch, with his attendant basin, marble-topped table, gilded towel-rails, etc., etc.

Attracted by the aristocracy upon the dais, I was proceeding to stroll humbly in their direction, when I heard the sound of footsteps. The next moment a girl stepped lightly between great sliding iron doors, which led obviously from an adjoining chamber on the same floor.

Very smart she was, in a black cloth coat with ermine collar and cuffs. On her head was a trim black hat from which a fine brooch was blazing. Save that she was fair, and that her feet flashed as she walked, I could see little more.

For a moment the new-comer hesitated, looking about her. Then she came towards me.

"Oh," she said. "I want to choose a bath."

For an instant I looked at her. Then I remembered that I was hatless, stickless, gloveless.

I bowed.

"Certainly, madam. What sort of bath do you require?"

She was looking at me now—narrowly rather. Quickly she swung round and glanced about the great hall. Then she spoke, somewhat uneasily.

"Er—if you would show me some baths with showers and things, please—"

"With pleasure, madam. Will you come this way?"

I preceded her in the direction of the great ones.

"Now this," I said, laying my hand familiarly on the smooth edge of one of the grandes dames, "this is 'The Duchess.' Very popular, madam. She may not exactly figure in Society, but I can assure you that every morning half Society figures in her." I glanced at the girl to see an amused smile struggling with grave suspicion in her eyes. I went on hurriedly. "We've been selling a great number lately."

"Have you?" she said slowly.

"Yes, indeed, madam. Only this morning we received an order for fourteen from Madagascar." I turned to another patrician. "Here again is a first-class bath. 'The Nobleman.' A great feature is the glass screen. The enamel, too, is of the very best quality. Nickelplated fittings, stream line body, detachable whee—er—that is, the waste also is constructed on a most ingenious principle: we call it the 'Want-Not' pattern."

"Ah," she said quietly. "And what's the price of this—er—paragon?"

I glanced at the ticket, knitting my brows.

"Well, it's listed at 'AWK/-', but to you, madam, the price is—"

I looked at her, smiling.

"Yes?" she said, with her grey eyes on mine. Her eyebrows were raised a little, and the soft lips had taken on the curve that tells of laughter hardly controlled.

"Another look like that," said I, "and I'll give it you and pay the carriage."

She broke into a long ripple of delight. Then she took her seat upon 'The Nobleman's' broad edge and regarded me mischievously.

"I think you ought to apologize," she said severely.

"Who took me for a salesman?" said I.

"I never did that. You see, I've been looking at basins over there"—she pointed in the direction of the iron doors—"and they said if I came through here, I should find one of the partners. Besides, I wasn't a bit sure when I first spoke, but, as you had no hat—And then you led me on. Still, I beg your pardon."

"Not at all. The partner's a very nice chap. And the mischief is reparable. I mean—"

"Where is the partner?"

"At the present moment I believe he's engaged in trying to efface the Indian Empire. Bit of a Socialist, you know," I added. "May I smoke?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Doesn't she know the word? Smoke, my dear. Draw into and expel from the mouth the fumes of burning tobac—"

"Idiot! About the Little Englander."

I explained.

"And now," I said, with a wave of my cigarette, "behold me once more at your service. The gentle art of bathing, madam, is of considerable antiquity. In classical times the bath played a very prominent part in the everyday existence of the cleanly nut. Then came a dead period in the history of personal irrigation. Recently, however, the bath-rate has once more gone up, immersion is again in vogue, and to-day in the best circles scarcely a month passes without—

"And these"—she swept the nobility with a glance—"are the upper ten!"

"Precisely. You can tell that from their polish."

"Rather exclusive, aren't they?"

"Collectively, yes, madam. Individually, they will receive you with open arms. Only last night an order arrived from—"

"I know. Madagascar. You're no good as a sales-man."

I drew myself up.

"From Honolulu, for twenty-two 'God-sends.'" I said icily. "Madagascar's request was for 'Duchesses.'"

"That, over there, is a 'Wallsend,'—I mean 'God-send.'"

"And I suppose you've supplied Cochin China for years."

"One of our oldest clients," said I.

"You know," said she, "when I look round, I feel as if I had never seen a bath before."

"I know. I felt just like that at first. And yet I have," I added thoughtfully; "they had one at a hotel I stayed at last Easter. At Biarritz, that was."

"I wish you'd be serious," she said, laughing. "Then you might be of some use."

"I don't think you're at all kind," said I, leaning against the screen of 'The Duchess' with a dejected air.

"Excuse me," she said, "but is that the Slinker Slouch I've heard of? Your attitude, I mean?"

"No," I said shortly. "It's the Leicester Lounge. But, to return to your unkindness. I want a bath just as much as you do."

She recoiled. "You know what I mean. I'm a customer, like you. We're both in the same ba-boat. And I have been doing my best to indicate the merits of—er—of—"

"The idle rich," she said, smiling. "Yes, but you see you shouldn't have. When you saw me coming you ought to have—"

"Dodged behind a pillar, picked up my stick and gloves, and kept about ten bath-lengths away, until the partner reappeared? No doubt. But, then, you shouldn't have looked so priceless, or worn your sense of humour on your sleeve. You shouldn't have had a small, straight nose or a mouth like a red flower. You shouldn't have walked like a thoroughbred, or carried your clothes as if they were worth wearing. You shouldn't have had eyes I could see to read by, if the light failed."

"Finished?"

"No. But listen. I think I hear the partner coming—the genuine article, this time." There was no sound.

"Anyway," I went on, "he'll be back in a moment; and so, as I'm afraid I didn't consider you just now, I'll try and make up for it. Good-bye."

"But what about your bath? Have you seen one you like?"

"Yes," said I. "I have. One. Not a bath, though. But I can easily come another day."

I turned resolutely away.

"I say," said the girl quietly.

I swung round and looked at her. She still sat upon the edge of 'The Nobleman,' her little gloved hands gripping the rim on either side of her. Her face was raised a little, but she was looking down. One slight leg thrust out from under the blue frock, its dainty instep gleaming under the silk stocking. The ankle above it, very slender; the bucked shoe literally beaming with pride.

"Yes?" I said.

"I haven't seen a bath I like, either," she said simply.

At this moment the partner came bustling back, full of apologies. Stifling a desire to strangle him, I congratulated the good man upon the condition of my hat, and turned to the girl.

"Then, as we both want to see some baths, perhaps we might look at some together?" I said.

"I think so."

"If you please, madam," said the partner. He turned to 'The Duchess.' "Now, this is a first-class bath. One of our very latest models. Only this morning we received an order from Ceylon ..."

Fortunately, we were both a little behind him.

No one can say that we did not weigh the merits of the various baths carefully. We passed from one to another, asking questions, receiving information, examining, criticizing, discussing for over an hour. Four times, to our great joy, the excellent partner actually climbed into a bath, the more satisfactorily to emphasize its advantages. As he sat there, faithfully reproducing the various movements of the arms, universally, I suppose, employed in the process of ablution, the living picture which he presented, put an obviously severe strain upon the gravity of my companion. And when, in response to a daringly ingenuous thirst for intelligence on my part, he proceeded to demonstrate the comparative ease with which a left-handed bather, suffering from sciatica, could manipulate the taps from the wrong end of the bath, the girl hurriedly sought the shelter of a convenient pillar to hide her open merriment. We had a great time.

Finally, we each gave an order for a 'Pompadour, which seemed, on the whole, to merit the palm. It was certainly the last word in the bath line.

While she was giving her name and the address of the home, which her new bath was to adorn, I strolled a little apart, thinking. When she had finished, the partner turned to me.

"I think I have the address, sir. The same as before?"

"That's right," said I. "I'm going down there on Tuesday. Could you send a man down that day to see the room and take the measurements? I'd like to be there myself."

"Certainly, sir.

"Very well. He'd better come by the nine-thirty, which'll get him down in two hours. I'll send to meet him. I'm going down by car myself."

"Thank you, sir." He turned to the girl inquiringly. "Perhaps Tuesday would suit you, too, madam? I don't think you mentioned any particular day, and as it's the same station for both houses, madam—"

He broke off. She and I were staring at one another. Then:

"How awfully strange," we said in unison.

The partner being there, there was no more to be said.

"Tuesday will do very well," she said, turning to him.

Together he conducted us to the street. Then, might he send for a taxi? There was a rank... The idea of sending for two taxis never seemed to enter his head. A good fellow, that partner. But, no thank you, my lady would walk. Would pick up a cab presently.

"May I have the pleasure of seeing you to a taxi?" said I, naturally enough.

"Thank you very much."

We bade the partner good-bye and turned in the direction of Westminster.

"You're sure it's not taking you out of your way?" said my companion with an innocent look.

"Out of my way," said I. "D'you think I live at Tooting?"

She broke into a little laugh. I went on:

"And if I did. If I lived at Hither Green and was just going to miss the last tram, don't you think I'd er—miss it?"

"You're very kind," she said quietly.

"Not at all," said I, with a glance downward. "The small bright shoe is on the other exquisite—er—foot. It's very good of you to let me walk with you, especially in view of my recent scandalous behaviour all among the baths."

"Which reminds me, you were awful. I thought I should die, when you asked that poor man—"

"A wholesome thirst for knowledge, my dear. Talking of which, d'you know it's getting on for half-past one?"

"Is it really?"

"It is, indeed. Time tears away sometimes, doesn't he?"

"Sometimes."

"You are sweet," said I. "However. About Time. He's a mocker of men, you know: very contrary. When he can serve, not he. When he cannot, he is willing enough. Beg him to hasten, he'll cock his hat and stroll with an air of leisure that makes us dance. Cry him to tarry, he is already gone, the wind panting behind him. Bid him return, he is at once all sympathy—grave sympathy: 'He may not. Otherwise he would have been so pleased... Sorry. Rather like my brother-in-law. You'll meet him at White Ladies."

"Is that where the bath's going?"

"Certainly. We shall be there in the spring. Will you come to our bath-warming?"

"Perhaps."

We came to the bridge and the sunshine and the marching river, and beyond these to Bridge Street and the green square. At the corner she hesitated.

"I think I'd better say good-bye now."

"I'm going to see a fellow," said I. "I wish you'd come with me."

A quick look of surprise. Then:

"Do I know him?"

"I think so. He's one of the Times. Lunch Time he's called; brother of Half Time. Both sons of the old man."

She smiled.

"Ah," she said. "I've an appointment with him, too. Only mine's at home. I must be going. I'm keeping him waiting now."

She held out her hand. I looked at it.

"You've made a mistake," I said. "I know for a fact he's going to be at the Carlton."

"No good! I know the family. The father taught them all the trick of being able to be in more than one place at the same time."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"My dear, you're wrong. You've forgotten Mean. He's got a place at Greenwich, you know, and never leaves it. Well, I won't bother her, for she's been awfully sweet. Shall I call her a taxi?"

She nodded. "I don't think we ought to stand here any longer: the atmospheric pressure of the Labour party is already affecting my breathing. Besides, any moment I might be mistaken for a Cabinet Minister. I know a salesman's pretty bad, but I must draw the line somewhere."

With that I hailed a taxi. As it was coming to the kerb:

"You're a dear C.B.," I said. "But I would have loved to have given you lunch."

She smiled gently.

"Would you?"

"You know I would, lass. Well, I shall look forward to you and the spring."

The cab drew up, and I opened the door. She stepped in.

"Where shall I tell him to go?"

For a moment she hesitated. Then she spoke slowly:

"Was it the Carlton you said?"

An hour later I stood once more at a taxi's door. Our luncheon was over, and I was saying farewell.

"You've been awfully kind," said the girl.

"Good-bye," said I. "I shall look forward to you at White Ladies."

"And to the spring."

I bowed.

"My dear, the terms are synonymous."

The smile deepened.

"If this wasn't the Haymarket," said I...

She was gone, her eyes full of laughter.

I turned to see Berry three paces away.

"Helping the porter?" he said pleasantly. "I wondered where you got that two shillings from last week. But oughtn't you to be in uniform? I should have thought Nathans—"

"I've chosen a bath," I said, seeking to divert his thoughts. After all he might not have seen. "Fine big place. Stacks of baths, you know. By the way, the office-boy took me for a commercial traveller, I added.

"Naturally. And the girl? Who did she take you for?"

I drew myself up.

"She's a C.B. too," I said loftily. "What more natural than that we should—"

"C.B.?" said Berry scornfully. "Now, if you had said K.G.—"

I cut him short.

"You needn't tell the others," I said.

A fat grin stole into his face. He sighed.

"The call of duty, brother, however distasteful—"

"Look here," said I. "You know those new cigars at the club?"

"Yes," he said eagerly. "The half-a-crown ones."

"They're not new," I said uneasily.

"Never mind," he said airily, taking my arm. "I feel sure a half-a-crown cigar would affect my memory. And a dry Martini would probably finish it."

I groaned.

"This is sheer blackmail," said I.

"Take it or leave it," said Berry, with the air of one who has the whip-hand.

"All right," I said wearily.

"I should think so, my son. And cheap at the price, too."

On the whole I think it was.



CHAPTER XIII

A LUCID INTERVAL

"Ausgang verboten!" said the guard.

"Yes," said Berry. "You look it."

"Hush!" said Daphne.

"Hush yourself," replied her husband. "The man is ill. I would minister to him."

We got him away somehow and bore him towards a taxi. Before we could stop him, he had congratulated the driver in excellent French on his recovery from the accident "which had so painfully disfigured him," and had asked for the name and address of the man who had designed the body of his cab. This was too much for Daphne, and she and Jonah called another taxi, and said they would see us at the hotel. Satisfied that the conductor of the hotel omnibus was collecting our luggage, I followed Jill and Berry into the cab, and we drove out of the station.

When we reached the hotel, Berry told the porter that he need not uncover, as he was travelling incognito, and asked if Mrs. Pleydel had arrived. Receiving a negative answer, he gave the man five marks and asked him to be very careful as to the way he lifted the cat's basket out of his wife's cab. Then he suffered himself to be conducted to the sitting-room which I had engaged on the first floor.

Five minutes later Daphne burst into the room.

"What on earth's the matter with the people here?" she demanded. "Half the staff are feeling all over the inside of our cab, and the porter keeps asking me if I'm sure the cat was put in at the station. Is this some of your doing?"

"Possibly some idle banter—"

"I knew it," said Daphne. "If this is how you begin, we shan't get out of Munich alive."

Why we had chosen Munich is not very easy to tell. Of course, we ought to have gone to Biarritz and taken the car, but they wouldn't have that. Everybody had wanted to go to a different place. Berry's choice was Minsk, because, he said, he wanted to rub up his Hebrew. Such a suggestion is characteristic of Berry. Then Munich was mentioned, and as no one had seemed very keen, no one had taken the trouble to be very rude about it. Consequently, Munich won. A day or two after our arrival, one of Wagner's triumphs was to be given at the Opera House, and, amid a scene of great excitement, Berry secured four tickets. I say four because I mean four. I have never appreciated opera, and was all along reluctant to go. But when I found that the show began at half-past four, I put my foot down and reminded the others of the Daylight Saving Bill. With gusto they retorted that I had been to more matinees than they cared to remember. I replied that for a theatre to begin at half-past four was out of all order and convenience, and that, as an Englishman and a member of a conservative club, I was not prepared to subscribe to such an unnatural arrangement.

"Brother," said Berry, "I weep for you. Not now, but in the privacy of my chamber I often weep great tears."

"Friend," said I, "your plain but honest face belies your words. You don't want to see the opera any more than I do, and now you're jealous because to-morrow I shall sit down to dinner comfortably while you are trying to remember which of the sandwiches have mustard, and praying that the lights won't go up till your mouth's empty."

To the consternation of the assistants in the library, Berry covered his face with his hands.

"He thinks it decent to revile me," he said weakly. "Where is my wife, my helpmeet?"

But Daphne had already retired. As I left the shop, an American lady approached Berry and told him the way to the English chemist.

At five the next day it began to rain. I was in Maximilian Street at the time, admiring the proportions of the thoroughfare and ready for anything. The rain suggested to me that I should take a taxi to the Rumpelmayer's of Munich. A closed one was crawling by the kerb opposite to me, on the far side of the road. I put up my stick, and it slowed down. I crossed to it, spoke to the driver, who scowled at me, seemingly because I approached him from the road and not from the pavement—Munich is very particular—and got in. As I sat back in the dark corner, the opposite door opened. The light of the offside lamps showed me two big, brown eyes, a dear, puzzled face, half wondering, half wanting to laugh, and a row of white teeth catching a red upper lip that trembled in a smile. The next moment their owner stepped quickly in, the driver let in his clutch with a jerk, and my unwitting companion was projected heavily into the corner—not mine—she had been about to occupy.

She swore gently.

"That's right," said I.

She jumped properly.

"Good Heavens!"

"I'm so sorry, but I'm all right," said I, "I assure you. Young man of gentlemanly appearance. Harrow and Oxford, terms moderate, bathroom and domestic offices, possession early in June—"

"Get out of my cab at once."

"—will send photograph if required. Whose cab?"

"Well, I engaged it."

"So did I."

"When?"

"Just now."

"How awfully funny."

"Isn't it? I'm so glad. I'm English, too, you know. I can prove that by my German. And—"

"But you don't want to go where I do."

"But I do."

"Don't be silly! You know what I mean."

At this moment the off hind wheel of a big limousine, which was passing us, caught our near front wheel. The steering-wheel was knocked out of the cabman's hands, and we landed up against a lamp-post with a crash that flung my companion and myself on to the floor of the taxi. The girl cried out, put her small hand into my mouth, and sat up.

I spoke into her glove.

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but I think I'm going to cry."

"Don't, my dear. It's all right. All the same, it's an outrage and a casus belli. Where does the British Ambassador live?"

Here the door was opened. The girl released me to adjust her hat, and I rolled on to the step and sat looking at a tall footman, who raised his hat and said something in German. The next minute a lady appeared. She began to speak in German, then:

"Oh, you are English," she said. I rose and bowed stiffly.

"Yes, madame, I have that honour."

"I am so very sorry. I do hope you are not hurt."

"I am only shaken, thank you."

She looked into the cab. "My dear," she purred, "I am so terribly sorry. I hope you were not hurt either. I cannot say—"

"No, I'm all right, thank you. I'll get out."

Then she fainted. I caught her and carried her to the limousine. When I had set her on the deep seat, I turned to the lady.

"I do not know where she lives," I said. "We have only met casually."

"A physician?" she queried. "Had she better—"

"I don't think it is a case for a doctor. She has only fainted. Perhaps you—"

"I will attend to her, and when we get to the Opera House, my maid—"

She turned to the footman and seemed to tell him to stay behind and see to the cabman and the police, who had come up. Then she stepped into the car, and a moment later we were slipping silently up the street. By the lights in the car, I could see that our friend was a handsome woman of perhaps thirty-eight. She was almost entirely enveloped in a magnificent sable coat: her head was bare. The great thing about her was her exquisite voice. While her fingers were busy about the girl's hat and throat, the latter opened her eyes. Then she sat up and put her hand to her head.

"No, lean back, my dear," said our hostess. "I will spray you."

She sprayed her with eau-de-Cologne.

"That's lovely," said the girl, with closed eyes. "Thank you so much."

The other stopped for a moment to take off the jaunty little hat and lightly push the dark hair away from the white temples.

The girl thanked her with a smile. Then she started up again. "Oh, but where is—"

She saw me, and stopped, colouring.

"He is here, in the car."

She closed her eyes once more, and the colour had faded from her cheeks before she spoke again. "Where are we going?" she said.

"To the Opera House, dear. You see, I am singing there. I would take you home, but I am late now. My maid, she will make you comfortable. I have nice rooms at the theatre, quite an apartment." She turned to me.

"And you will come, too, please. There is plenty of room. Besides she is in your charge."

"Of course," said I. "Thank you very much."

As she had said, a regular little suite had been allotted to our hostess at the Opera House. As well as the dressingroom, there was a bathroom and a large sitting-room, with flowers everywhere, and beautifully furnished. Here I waited, wondering a little. The others had passed into the dressing-room.

Presently Yvonne, the French maid, entered the room.

"Mademoiselle recovers, monsieur," she said, with a smile. "Also she dines here, and monsieur with her. It is all arranged.

"If you please," said I. It seemed about the best thing to say.

Very swiftly she laid the table for two—a cold chicken, some salad, rolls, and a bottle of champagne. Thank you.

"It is not much," said Yvonne apologetically. "Now at Madame's house—"

"Yvonne!" came from the dressing-room.

"Pardon, monsieur."

Yvonne disappeared. Five minutes later a telephone bell rang. Then the dressing-room door opened, and Madame came forth robed, and the girl with her, looking as right as rain.

"That was my call," said our hostess. "I go to sing now. By the time you have finished, I shall be back, and then, later, if you would like to sit in a box for a little while, it will be quiet for you both. Come, Yvonne."

She swept out of the room. Yvonne closed the door behind her.

"I like her," said I.

"She's a dear," said my companion.

"I like you, too," said I.

She swept me a curtsey.

"It was silly of me to faint."

"You did it so sweetly."

"This'll teach you not to take other people's taxis."

"On the contrary—

"Would you like to give me some chicken?"

"I should like—"

"Yes?"

She looked at me straight in the eyes.

I walked to the table and took up the knife and fork.

"Yes?"

I looked at her, smiling gloriously now.

"Oh, I'd like Berry to see us now."

She came across and laid a hand on my shoulder.

"I like you, too," she said.

We had a great meal. She didn't want to drink any champagne, but I persuaded her to take a little.

"And who's Berry?" she said, pushing back her chair.

"A mistake," said I. "A great mistake. That's what he is."

She laughed.

"Who made him?"

"My sister. She married him, you see."

"Of course, I shall get confused in a moment."

"Well, things have got a move on in the last hour and a quarter, haven't they? I mean to say, at five o'clock you found a stranger in your taxi. Five minutes later you were smashed up. Now you're in a prima donna's room at the Opera House, eating a cold collation. Collation is good, isn't it?"

"Awfully? Where did you hear it?"

I frowned. "I came out top in dictation last term."

"Indeed? Genius and madness do go together, don't they? You are mad, aren't you?"

"Raving, my dear. I've been certified for two years come Ember. Out on licence under the new Cock and Bull Bill. You know, 'And your petitioners will ever Pray—'"

"I suppose you do have lucid intervals?"

"Only on third Tuesdays."

"Such as to-day."

"By Jove, so it is. I thought one was about due. Now I come to think of it, I nearly had one just now."

"When?"

"When you asked me what I should like."

In silence she traced a pattern upon the white cloth with a small pink finger. I watched it, and wondered whether her eyes were smiling. I couldn't see them, but her mouth looked as if it wanted to. Then:

"I think you'd better tell me when the interval's coming," she said quietly. "One usually goes out—"

"You're thinking of Plays," said I. "Between Acts II and III ten minutes and the safety curtain. But with Life and fools it's different. You don't go out in these intervals."

"No?"

"No," I said. "On the contrary, it's where you come in."

She looked up, smiling, at that. I addressed her eyes. "You see, in Life it's just the intervals that count—those rare hours when, though the band's not playing, there's music in the air; though the world's standing still, and no one's looking on, there's most afoot; though the—"

Here the door opened, and Madame came in, Yvonne at her heels.

"It is the interval," she explained. "Thank you."

Oh, but she was in fine fettle, was Madame.

"My voice is good to-night. It is you two that have helped me. You are so young and goodly. And I have a box, the Royal box—they are not using it, you see—if you would like to hear the rest of the opera. Yes? But you must come back and say 'Good night' to me afterwards."

Our murmured thanks she would have none of. Supper and a box was little enough. Had she not nearly killed us both an hour ago?

"But now I shall sing to you, and you will forgive me. I am in voice to-night. Is it not so, Yvonne?"

"But, Madame!"

The ecstasy of Yvonne was almost pathetic.

The ceremony with which we were installed in the Royal box was worthy of the Regent himself. But then Madame was a very great lady. The lights in the house did not go down for a minute, and I peered over the rim of the balcony to see if I could locate Berry and Co. Suddenly I saw Jill, and Berry next to her. He was staring straight at the Royal box, and his face was a study. He must have seen me come in. Then the lights died, and the curtain went up.

The singing of Madame I cannot describe. It was not of this world. And we knew her. We were her friends. She was our hostess. To the house she was the great artiste—a name to whisper, a figurehead to bow before. For us, we were listening to the song of a friend. As she had promised, she sang to us. There was no mistaking it. And the great charm of her welled out in that wonderful voice. All the spirit of melody danced in her notes. When she was singing, there seemed to be none but us in the theatre, and soon no theatre—only us in the world. We two only stepped by her side, walked with her, understood.

Actually the girl and I sat spellbound, smiling down as she smiled up from the stage. We knew afterwards that we had been sitting hand-in-hand, as children do.

At the end of it all the house rose at her. Never was there such a scene. We rose, too, and stood smiling. Somehow we did not applaud. She just smiled back.

"Shall we go?" said I.

"Yes."

As I turned to the door, I caught sight of four faces looking earnestly up from the stalls. I bowed gravely. An attendant was waiting in the corridor, and we were escorted through the iron door the way we had come.

Madame sat in a deep arm-chair in the sitting-room, her hair all about her shoulders. She looked tired. Virtue had gone out of her.

"Ah, my dears," she said. My companion kneeled by her side and put her arms round her neck. Then she spoke and kissed her. I do not know what she said. The other held her very close for a moment, then looked at me and smiled. I raised her hand to my lips.

"I cannot say anything, Madame."

"It is all said. We have spoken together for the last half-hour. Is it not so?"

"It is so, Madame."

After a little, my companion said we must be going.

"He will see me to my hotel," she said.

"I do not like letting you go," said our hostess, "but I take long to dress. My car shall carry you home and return for me. Yvonne, see to that. Yes, there will be plenty of time. Besides, you have driven enough in taxis for to-day. What have you lost, my dear?"

The girl was looking about her.

"I think I must have left it in the box—my chain bag. How silly!"

"My dear, I leave everything everywhere"

"I will get it," said I. Yvonne had gone for the car. Besides, I wanted to go.

"Oh, thank you. It's quite a small gold—"

"I know it," said I, smiling.

"Can you find your way?" said Madame. "The house will be almost in darkness."

"Oh, yes, Madame."

A moment later I was in the corridor beyond the iron door. It was quite dark, but twenty paces away a faint suggestion of light showed where the door of the Royal box stood open. When I reached it, I saw that a solitary lamp was burning on the far side of the stalls. After glancing at it, the darkness of the box seemed more impenetrable. I felt for the little gold bag—on the balcony, on the chair, on the floor. It was nowhere. I stood up and peered into the great, dim auditorium, wondering whether I dared strike a match. Fearing that there might be a fireman somewhere in the darkness, I abandoned the idea. The sudden flash might be seen, and then people would come running, and there would have to be explanations. I went down on my hands and knees, and felt round her chair and then mine, and then all over the box. Just as I got up, my right hand encountered something hard and shiny. Clearly it wasn't what I was looking for, but out of curiosity I stooped to feel it again. I groped in vain for a moment; then I put my hand full on the buckle of a patent-leather shoe. As my fingers closed about a warm ankle:

"Pardon, monsieur!" came a quick whisper.

I let go. "Is that you, Yvonne?"

"Si, monsieur."

"I never heard you come in."

"I have come this moment, and did not see monsieur in the dark. Madame has sent me. Monsieur cannot find that little bag?"

"No. Do you think I might strike a match?"

"Ah, no, monsieur, not in the Opera House, They are so particular."

"I see—at least, I don't, and that's the trouble. However—"

I felt over the balcony again. No good.

"Where did mademoiselle sit, monsieur?"

"Where are you?"

I groped in the direction of the whisper and found an arm.

"In that chair there," I said, guiding her to it.

"Here, monsieur?"

"Yes, that's right."

I heard her hands groping about the chair and turned to try the floor on the other side again.

"I have it, monsieur."

"Well," said I, "I could have sworn I'd felt everywhere round that chair."

She chinked the bag by way of answer.

"Anyway, we've got it," said I. "Come on." And I made for the door. Then I stopped to take one more look at the great house. As I did so, a woman appeared on the far side of the stalls. She paused for a second to glance at herself in a mirror immediately under the solitary electric light. I recognized Yvonne. Then she passed on. Neither of us spoke for a moment. Then:

"Why did you say you were Yvonne?" said I.

"Yvonne is my name, too."

"Were you afraid I might have a lucid interval?"

"Perhaps."

"Your fears are realized. I have—I'm having one now."

"How awful!"

"Isn't it? And now we've found your bag, would you mind if I looked for something else?"

"Something of yours or mine?"

"Something of yours?"

"Can I help you?" she said slowly.

"Materially."

With a little half laugh, half sob, a warm arm slid round my neck.

"Here they are!" she whispered.

Madame would not let us go till Yvonne had returned from the manager's office with the offer of a box for Thursday.

"So it is not 'Good-bye' and you will come and see me again. I sing then for the last time in Munich. I fear you cannot have your own box, though. The Regent is coming that night. It is too bad."

We laughed and bade her farewell.

As the car slowed down at my companion's hotel, the footman slid off the front seat and opened the door. I got up and out of the car. As I turned, I saw the girl pick up her gloves and leave the precious bag on the seat.

"My dear, your bag—"

But, as she got out, the bag left the seat with her. By the lights in the car I saw that it was attached to a chain about her neck; and the chain lay beneath her dress. I handed her out thoughtfully.

"Till Thursday, then," she said.

"Till to-morrow morning," said I.

She laughed.

"I think there ought to be an interval."

"Isn't that just what I'm saying? What about a luncheon interval to-morrow?"

"Well, it mustn't be a lucid one"

"All right. I'll bring Jonah and Daphne."

"Mayn't I see the mistake?"

"If I can find him."

"Good-bye"

"Good-bye. I say—"

She turned, one small foot on the steps.

"I love your feet," I said.

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Do you always unfasten that chain and take off the bag when you go to the theatre?"

She looked down at the little foot in its shining shoe. Then:

"Only on third Tuesdays," she said.

When I reached my hotel, I passed quickly upstairs to the sitting-room.

"Here he is," said Daphne "Come along, darling, and have some supper, and tell us all about it."

"Supper!" said Berry. "Woman, you forget yourself. You are no longer on the joy-wheel. My lord has dined."

"As a matter of fact, I have," said I. "Madame gave me some dinner at the Opera House."

"Of course," said Berry.

"What did I say? We grovelling worms can gnaw our sandwiches the while he cracks bottles of—champagne, was it?"

I nodded.

Berry rose to his feet, and in a voice broken with emotion, called such shades of his ancestors "as are on night duty" to witness. "Hencefifth," he said, "I intend to lead a wicked life."

"Blackpool-Conservative; no change," said Jonah.

Berry ignored the interruption. "Virtue may have its own cakes and ale. I dare say it has. What of it? I never see any of them. Vice is more generous. Its patrons actually wallow in champagne. For me, the most beastly sandwiches I ever ate, and an expensive stall. For him, dinner with the prima donna and the Royal box. By the way, who did the girl mistake you for? One of the attendants or the business manager?"

"Who was she?" said Jill.

"I don't know."

"Rot!" said Jonah.

"It's the truth."

"She looked rather a dear," said Daphne.

"She is. You'll meet her to-morrow. And Berry—she wants to meet Berry. She said so."

"There you are," said my brother-in-law. "Is my tie straight?"

I lighted a cigarette to conceal a smile.



CHAPTER XIV

A PRIVATE VIEW

When I had adjusted the cushions, I sank into the chair and sighed.

"What's that for?" said Daphne

"Sin," said I.

"Whose?"

"That of him who packed for me at the Blahs this morning. A sin of omission rather than commission, though he did put my sponge-bag into my collarcase," I added musingly. "They're both round, you see. Still, I pass that by."

"But what do you really complain of?" said Jill. "He's left my dressing-gown out."

"I expect he thought it was a loose cover," said Jonah. "It'll be sent on all right," said Daphne "That's nothing. What about my fan? You're not a bit sorry for me about that."

"I have already been sorry about it. I was sorry for you on Friday just by the sideboard. I remember it perfectly. All the same, if you will waste Berry's substance at places of entertainment in the West End, and then fling a priceless heirloom down in the hall of the theatre, you mustn't be surprised if some flat-footed seeker after pleasure treads on it."

"He was a very nice man, and his feet weren't a bit flat."

"I believe you did it on purpose to get into conversation with him. Where's Berry?"

At that moment the gentleman in question walked across the lawn towards us.

"Thank Heaven!" he said when he saw me. "I'm so glad you're back. I've run out of your cigarettes."

I handed him my case in silence.

"It's curious," he said, "how used one can get to inferior tobacco."

Tea appeared in serial form. After depositing the three-storied cake dish holder—or whatever the thing is called—with a to-be-completed air, the footman disappeared, to return a moment later with the teapot and hot water. As he turned to go:

"Bring me the tray that's on the billiard-table," said Berry. "Carry it carefully."

"Yes, sir.

"Without moving, we all observed one another, the eyes looking sideways. You see, the tray bore a jig-saw. When I had left on the previous Saturday for a week-end visit, we had done the top right-hand corner and half what looked as if it must be the left side. Most of this we had done on Friday evening; but artificial light is inclined to militate against the labourer, and at eleven o'clock Berry had sworn twice, shown us which pieces were missing, and related the true history of poor Agatha Glynde, who spent more than a fortnight over 'David Copperfield' before she found out that the pieces had been mixed up with those of Constable's 'Hay Wain.' This upset us so much that Jonah said he should try and get a question asked in the House about it, and we decided to send the thing back the next day and demand the return of the money."

On the way up to bed, Daphne had asked me if I thought we could get "damages, or compensation, or something," and I had replied that, if we could prove malice, they had undoubtedly brought themselves within the pale of the criminal law.

The next morning Jill had done nearly two more square inches before breakfast, and I missed the midday train to town.

"Hullo, you have got on!" I said, as the man set the tray and its precious burden gingerly on the grass in our midst.

"Aha, my friend," said Berry, "I thought you'd sit up! Yes, sir, the tract already developed represents no less an area than thirty-six square inches—coldly calculated by me this afternoon during that fair hour which succeeds the sleep of repletion and the just—but the vast possibilities which lie hidden beneath the surface of the undeveloped expanse of picture are almost frightening. A land rich in minerals, teeming with virgin soil—a very Canaan of to-day. Does it not call you, brother?"

"It does," said I. "I wish it didn't, because it's wicked waste of time, but it does."

I kneeled down that I might the better appreciate their industry. The jig-saw was called 'A Young Diana' and was alleged to be a reproduction of the picture of that name which had appeared in the Academy the year before. I hardly remembered it. I gazed admiringly at the two clouds drifting alone at the top right-hand corner, the solitary hoof planted upon a slice of green sward, the ragged suggestion of forest land in the distance, and a ladder of enormous length, which appeared to possess something of that spirit of independence which distinguished Mahomet's coffin. In other words, it was self-supporting. After a careful scrutiny, I rose to my feet, took a pace or two backwards, and put my head on one side. Then:

"I like it," I said. "I like it. Some people might say it looked a little crude or unfinished; but, to my mind, that but preserves, as it were, the spirit of barbarism which the title suggests."

"Suggestion as opposed to realization," said Berry, "is the rule by which we work. To the jaded appet—imagination the hoof suggests a horse. It is up to you to imagine the horse. We have, as it were, with an effort set in motion the long unused machinery of your brain. It is for you, brother, to carry on the good work. Please pass out quietly. There will be collection plates at both doors."

"You're not to touch it yet," said Daphne. "I want to talk about abroad first. If we're really going, we must settle things."

"Of course we're going," said Berry. "I ordered a yachting cap yesterday."

"What's that for?" said Jill.

"Well, we're not going to fly across the Channel, are we? Besides that, supposing we go to Lucerne part of the time?"

"What about taking the car?" said Daphne.

"It's expensive," said Berry moodily, "but I don't see how else we can satisfactorily sustain the flow of bloated plutocracy which at present oozes from us."

We all agreed that the car must come. Then arose the burning question of where to go. In a rash moment Jill murmured something about Montenegro.

"Montenegro?" said Berry, with a carelessness that should have put her on her guard.

"Yes," said Jill. "I heard someone talking about it when I was dining with the Bedells. It sounded priceless. I had a sort of idea it was quite small, and had a prince, but it's really quite big, and it's got a king over it, and they all wear the old picturesque dress, and the scenery's gorgeous. And, if it was wet, we could go to the—the—"

"Kursaal," said Berry. "No, not Kursaal. It's like that, though."

"Casino?"

"That's it—Casino. And then we could go on to Nice and Cannes, and—"

"You're going too fast, aren't you? Servia comes before Cannes, doesn't it?"

"Well, Servia, too."

"All right," said Berry. "I was going to suggest that we joined the Danube at Limoges, went up as far as Milan, where the falls are, and then struck off to Toledo, taking Warsaw on the way, but—"

"That'd be rather a long way round, wouldn't it?" said Jill, all seriousness in her grey eyes.

"Ah, I mean the Spanish Toledo, not the one in the States."

"Oh, I see—"

She checked herself suddenly and looked round. "He's laughing at me," she said. "What have I said wrong?"

"If anyone asked me where we should be without our Jill," said Berry, "I couldn't tell them."

When we began to discuss the tour in good earnest, the argument proper began. I had suggested that we should make for Frankfort, to start with, and Daphne and Jonah rather favoured Germany. Berry, however, wanted to go to Austria. It was after a casual enough remark of Jonah's that the roads in Germany were very good that Berry really got going.

"The roads good?" he said. "That settles it—say no more. The survey, which is, after all, the object of our holiday (sic), will be able to be made with success. If we start at once, we shall be able to get the book published by Christmas: 'Road Surfaces in Germany,' by a Hog."

"The old German towns are fascinating," said Daphne.

"Nothing like them," said Berry. "I can smell some of them now. Can you not hear the cheerful din of the iron tires upon the cobbled streets? Can you not see the grateful smile spreading over the beer-sodden features of the cathedral verger, as he pockets the money we pay for the privilege of following an objectionable rabble round an edifice, which we shall remember more for the biting chill of its atmosphere than anything else? And then the musty quiet of the museums, and the miles we shall cover in the picture galleries, halting now and then to do a brief gloat in front of one of Van Stunk's masterpieces..."

"My heart leaps up when I behold a Van Stunk on the wall. Wordsworth knew his Englishman, didn't he?"

"Oh, well, if you're so dead against it—"

"Against it, dear. How can I be against it? Why, we may even be arrested as spies! There"—he looked round triumphantly—"who shall say that the age of romance is dead? Let us go forth and languish in a German gaol. Think of the notices we shall get in the papers! We'll give our photographs to The Daily Glass before we start. I expect we shall see one another in the chapel on Sundays, and I shall write to you in blood every day, darling, on a piece of my mattress. The letters will always be in the top left-hand corner of the steak pudding. Don't say I didn't tell you where to look."