nation must have been considerable, for she tore herself away from
them only just in time to get back and dress for dinner. It was,
accordingly, not until coffee had been consumed that I was able to get
matters moving. I found her in the drawing-room and at once proceeded to
put things in train.

It was with very different feelings from those which had animated the
bosom when approaching the Bassett twenty-four hours before in the same
manner in this same drawing-room that I headed for where she sat. As I
had told Tuppy, I have always been devoted to Angela, and there is
nothing I like better than a ramble in her company.

And I could see by the look of her now how sorely in need she was of my
aid and comfort.

Frankly, I was shocked by the unfortunate young prune's appearance. At
Cannes she had been a happy, smiling English girl of the best type, full
of beans and buck. Her face now was pale and drawn, like that of a hockey
centre-forward at a girls' school who, in addition to getting a fruity
one on the shin, has just been penalized for "sticks". In any normal
gathering, her demeanour would have excited instant remark, but the
standard of gloom at Brinkley Court had become so high that it passed
unnoticed. Indeed, I shouldn't wonder if Uncle Tom, crouched in his
corner waiting for the end, didn't think she was looking indecently
cheerful.

I got down to the agenda in my debonair way.

"What ho, Angela, old girl."

"Hullo, Bertie, darling."

"Glad you're back at last. I missed you."

"Did you, darling?"

"I did, indeed. Care to come for a saunter?"

"I'd love it."

"Fine. I have much to say to you that is not for the public ear."

I think at this moment poor old Tuppy must have got a sudden touch of
cramp. He had been sitting hard by, staring at the ceiling, and he now
gave a sharp leap like a gaffed salmon and upset a small table containing
a vase, a bowl of potpourri, two china dogs, and a copy of Omar Khayyam
bound in limp leather.

Aunt Dahlia uttered a startled hunting cry. Uncle Tom, who probably
imagined from the noise that this was civilization crashing at last,
helped things along by breaking a coffee-cup.

Tuppy said he was sorry. Aunt Dahlia, with a deathbed groan, said it
didn't matter. And Angela, having stared haughtily for a moment like a
princess of the old regime confronted by some notable example of
gaucherie on the part of some particularly foul member of the underworld,
accompanie