A long-standing engagement made it impossible for Berry to accompany us from London.  On Tuesday he must leave Town for Hampshire, but time-tables were consulted, and it was discovered that he could travel across country on Christmas Eve, and, by changing from one station to the other at the market town of Flail, arrive at Red Abbey in time for tea.

“We can take your luggage with us,” said Daphne.  “You’ve got all you’ll want for the night at White Ladies.”

It was half-past nine o’clock, and we were all in the library, resting after the labours of the day.

Berry from the depths of the sofa grunted an assent.

“All the same,” he added, “I must take something.  Beard-eraser, for instance, and a clean neckerchief.  Same as when you enlist.”

“Everything you can possibly want’s there already.  Mrs. Foreland knows you’re coming, and she’ll put everything out.”

“I have a weakness,” replied her husband, “for my own sponge.  Moreover, foolhardy as it may seem, I still clean my teeth.  The only question is, what to put them in.”

“What’s the matter with your pockets?” said I.

“Nothing at present,” said Berry.  “That’s why I shall want your dispatch-case.”

“Nothing doing,” said I.  “I refuse to subscribe to my own inconvenience.”

“Self,” said Berry bitterly.  “Why wasn’t I born selfish?  I’ve often tried, but you can’t bend an oak, can you?  Anybody can have my shirt at any time.”  Languidly he regarded his cuff.  “No.  Not this one, but almost any other.  My life has been one long unrecognized sacrifice.  And what is my reward?” He looked round about him with pitying eyes.  “Poor bloated worms, you little know the angel that labours in your midst.”  His own being finished, with a sigh he took his wife’s newly-lighted cigarette from the ashtray which they were sharing.  “I had a dream last night,” he added comfortably.

“What about?” said Jill.

“I dreamed,” said Berry, “that I was a pint of of unusually broad beans.  Several people remarked upon my breadth.  After spirited bidding, I was secured by no less a personage than The McAroon himself, to whom I gave violent indigestion within twenty-four hours.  Pleased with this attention, the laird erected in my memory a small bar at which the rankest poison could be obtained at all hours by asking in Hebrew for ginger ale.  Which reminds me.  I haven’t taken my medicine.”  Meaningly he regarded the tray which had just been placed upon a side-table.  “The doctor said I mustn’t move about after meals, or I’d mix it myself.  As it is....”

He broke off and looked round expectantly.

“Idle brute,” said Daphne.  “I wonder you aren’t afraid to——­Where’s my cigarette?  I only lighted one a moment ago.”

“Perhaps it’s behind your ear,” suggested her husband.  “Perhaps——­”

“Where’s the match you lighted that one from?” demanded his wife.