k at Derek while he had that Lady Underhill expression on the old
map. Rummy he had never noticed before how extraordinarily like his
mother he was. Freddie was conscious of a faint sense of grievance. He
could not have put it into words, but what he felt was that a fellow
had no right to go about looking like Lady Underhill.

"What are they saying?" repeated Derek grimly.

"Well...." Freddie hesitated. "That it's a bit tough.... On Jill, you
know."

"They think I behaved badly?"

"Well.... Oh, well, you know!"

Derek smiled a ghastly smile. This was not wholly due to mental
disturbance. The dull heaviness which was the legacy of the
Dry-Salters' dinner had begun to change to something more actively
unpleasant. A sub-motive of sharp pain had begun to run through it,
flashing in and out like lightning through a thunder-cloud. He felt
sullen and vicious.

"I wonder," he said with savage politeness, "if, when you chat with
your friends, you would mind choosing some other topic than my private
affairs."

"Sorry, old man. But they started it, you know."

"And, if you feel you've got to discuss me, kindly keep it to
yourself. Don't come and tell me what your damned friends said to each
other and to you and what you said to them, because it bores me. I'm
not interested. I don't value their opinions as much as you seem to."
Derek paused, to battle in silence with the imperious agony within
him. "It was good of you to put me up here," he went on, "but I think
I won't trespass on your hospitality any longer. Perhaps you'll ask
Barker to pack my things to-morrow." Derek moved, as majestically as
an ex-guest of the Worshipful Company of Dry-Salters may, in the
direction of the door. "I shall go to the Savoy."

"Oh, I say, old man! No need to do that."

"Good night."

"But, I say...."

"And you can tell your friend Devereux that, if he doesn't stop poking
his nose into my private business, I'll pull it off."

"Well," said Freddie doubtfully, "of course I don't suppose you know,
but.... Ronny's a pretty hefty bird. He boxed for Cambridge in the
light-weights the last year he was up, you know. He...."

Derek slammed the door. Freddie was alone. He stood rubbing his legs
for some minutes, a rueful expression on his usually cheerful face.
Freddie hated rows. He liked everything to jog along smoothly. What a
rotten place the world was these days! Just one thing after another.
First, poor old Jill takes the knock and di