the only person
who really understands that ridiculous new-fangled Turkish bath that he
insists on taking with him everywhere."

"Surely he could do without a Turkish bath for one evening," said Sophie;
"I can't appear without hair, but a Turkish bath is a luxury."

"My good woman," said Catherine, speaking with a fearful intensity,
"Henry was in the bath when the strike started. In it, do you
understand? He's there now."

"Can't he get out?"

"He doesn't know how to. Every time he pulls the lever marked 'release'
he only releases hot steam. There are two kinds of steam in the bath,
'bearable' and 'scarcely bearable'; he has released them both. By this
time I'm probably a widow."

"I simply can't send away Gaspare," wailed Sophie; "I should never be
able to secure another omelette specialist."

"Any difficulty that I may experience in securing another husband is of
course a trifle beneath anyone's consideration," said Catherine bitterly.

Sophie capitulated. "Go," she said to Richardson, "and tell the Strike
Committee, or whoever are directing this affair, that Gaspare is herewith
dismissed. And ask Gaspare to see me presently in the library, when I
will pay him what is due to him and make what excuses I can; and then fly
back and finish my hair."

Some half an hour later Sophie marshalled her guests in the Grand Salon
preparatory to the formal march to the dining-room. Except that Henry
Malsom was of the ripe raspberry tint that one sometimes sees at private
theatricals representing the human complexion, there was little outward
sign among those assembled of the crisis that had just been encountered
and surmounted. But the tension had been too stupefying while it lasted
not to leave some mental effects behind it. Sophie talked at random to
her illustrious guest, and found her eyes straying with increasing
frequency towards the great doors through which would presently come the
blessed announcement that dinner was served. Now and again she glanced
mirror-ward at the reflection of her wonderfully coiffed hair, as an
insurance underwriter might gaze thankfully at an overdue vessel that had
ridden safely into harbour in the wake of a devastating hurricane. Then
the doors opened and the welcome figure of the butler entered the room.
But he made no general announcement of a banquet in readiness, and the
doors closed behind him; his message was for Sophie alone.

"There is no dinner, madame," he said gra