Mr. Spatt also was very tall and very thin. His head was
several sizes too small, and part of his insignificant face, which one was
apt to miss altogether in contemplating his body, was hidden under a short
grey beard. Siegfried Spatt, the sole child of the union, though but
seventeen, was as tall and as thin as his father and his mother; he had a
pale face and red hands.

The guests were Audrey, Jane Foley, and a young rubicund gentleman,
beautifully clothed, and with fair curly locks, named Ziegler. Mr. Ziegler
was far more perfectly at ease than anybody else at the table, which indeed
as a whole was rendered haggard and nervous by the precarious state of the
conversation, expecting its total decease at any moment. At intervals
someone lifted the limp dying body--it sank back--was lifted
again--struggled feebly--relapsed. Young Siegfried was excessively
tongue-tied and self-conscious, and his demeanour frankly admitted it. Jane
Foley, acknowledged heroine in certain fields, sat like a schoolgirl at her
first dinner-party. Audrey maintained her widowhood, but scarcely with
credit. Mr. and Mrs. Spatt were as usual too deeply concerned about the
awful condition of the universe to display that elasticity of mood which
continuous chatter about nothing in particular demands. And they were too
worshipful of the best London conventions not to regard silence at table as
appalling. In the part of the country from which Jane Foley sprang, hosts
will sit mute through a meal and think naught of it. But Mr. and Mrs. Spatt
were of different stuff. All these five appeared to be in serious need of
conversation pills. Only Mr. Ziegler beheld his companions with a satisfied
equanimity that was insensible to spiritual suffering. Happily at the most
acute moments the gentle night wind, meandering slowly from the east across
leagues of North Sea, would induce in one or another a sneeze which gave
some semblance of vitality and vigour to the scene.

After one of these sneezes it was that Jane Foley, conscience-stricken,
tried to stimulate the exchanges by an effort of her own.

"And what are the folks like in Frinton?" she demanded, blushing, and
looking up. As she looked up young Siegfried looked down, lest he might
encounter her glance and be utterly discountenanced.

Jane Foley's question was unfortunate.

"We know nothing of them," said Mrs. Spatt, pained. "Of course I have
received and paid a few purely formal calls. But as regards