ept in a cage."

At this point the bell interrupted reminiscence.

"That must be Lilli Vergoe," said Jenny. "I'll go down and let her in.
She'll feel uncomfortable walking into a crowd by herself."

"I'll come as well," Maurice volunteered.

The two of them took almost longer to descend than to come up, so much
discussion was there of the immortality of affection, so much weighing
up of comparative emotion. When they reached the studio with Lilli, the
party had settled down into various groups of conversation.

"What about tea?" said the host. "Jenny shall pour out."

"But what a terrible teapot," cried the latter when she had accepted the
task. "It's like my sister's watering-can. What's the matter with it?"

"Age," said Castleton solemnly. "It's old Lowestoft. If you look inside,
you'll see 'A Present from Lowestoft.'"

"Shut up," said Maurice, "and pass the Chelsea buns."

"A bit of old Chelsea," murmured Castleton.

"Shut up making rotten jokes," said Cunningham.

"You must excuse him," said Maurice. "He isn't funny, but he's very
nice. Good Lord!" he went on. "I've never wished Jenny 'many happy
returns of the day.'"

"Yes, it's a pity you waited till after she's seen those buns," said
Castleton. "However!"

"And the cake," said Maurice, diving into the cupboard.

"Don't look so sad," Castleton whispered to the guest of honor. "It
isn't really a tombstone."

"Isn't he awful?" said Jenny, laughing.

"I say," cried Maurice. "Look here!"

Across the white cake was written in pink icing: "Sacred to the Memory
of a Good Appetite."

"Rotten!" said Cunningham. "Castleton, of course."

"Of course," said Maurice. "And now we haven't got any candles."

"Let's light the gas instead," Castleton suggested.

"You are mad," said Jenny.

Tea went on with wild laughter, with clinking of saucers and spoons,
with desperate carving of the birthday cake, with solemn jokes from
Castleton, with lightning caricatures from Ronnie Walker.

Once Jenny whispered to Maurice:

"Why did you say I shouldn't like Fuz? I think he's nice. You know,
funny; but very nice."

"I'm glad," Maurice whispered back. "I like you to like my friends."

After tea they all wandered round the studio in commentary of its
contents.

"Maurice!" said Castleton, stopping before the wax model of Aphrodite.
"You don't feed your pets regularly enough. This lady's outrageously
thin."

"Isn't he shocking?" said Maudie. "What would you do