y opposite them by himself between me and Norah (the only
possible arrangement) it was terrible.

Reggie persisted in talking to Viola like a well-bred stranger. He
persisted in ignoring Jevons.

And Jimmy retaliated by ignoring _him_. There was nothing else for him
to do. Only it wasn't one of the things he did well. Beside Reggie's
accomplishment he looked mean and pitiful and a little vulgar. God
forgive me for putting it down, but that is how he looked.

And once or twice, under the strain of it, he dropped an aitch with the
most disconcerting effect.

I often wonder what Pavitt thought of that family party. He certainly
served Viola as if he loved her, and Jimmy as if he was sorry for him,
calling his attention to a dish or a wine which, he seemed to say, it
would be a pity for him to miss--it might prove a consolation to him.

Our agony became so unbearable that the women ended it when they could by
leaving us at the stage of coffee and cigarettes. Then, with us three men
the position became untenable, and Reggie found that he'd have to go out
at nine; he had an appointment with a fellow. And at nine he went.

Viola and Jimmy left us very soon after.

She said, "It was dear of you to have us," not in the least humbly, but
as if they had enjoyed it.

Up to the very last she was magnificent, and even Jimmy played up well.
In fact, when Reggie's perfection was no longer there to damage him he
was rather fine.

It was poor little Norah who broke down. I found her crying all by
herself on the couch in my study when they'd gone.

She said, "Wally, this is awful. It's _the_ most awful thing that could
have happened."

I said, "Oh, come--" and she persisted. "But it _is_. She adored Reggie.
He used to adore her--and--you've seen him, how he was to-night. It'll
kill her if he keeps it up."

I said, "He won't keep it up."

"Oh, won't he! You don't know Reggie."

I said, "It's odd. He didn't seem to mind Jimmy so much the first day he
met him."

"Oh, my dear--he didn't mind, because he never could have dreamed she'd
marry him."

"He'll come round all right when he knows him," I said.

She shook her head and made little dabs at her face with her
pocket-handkerchief.

"That's just it. He thinks he does know him. I mean he thinks he knows
something. I'm sure he thinks it."

"My dear child, however could he? He couldn't even have heard. If you
mean that Belgian business, it was all over and done with fou