. Perhaps I ought to
explain Rose. She was the sister whom these two sisters were sisters of.
Got that?" I turned to Celia. "I'm going to get the sister idea into his
head if I die for it."

"Just a moment, sir," said the dazed voice of the porter.

"What's the matter? Didn't I make it clear about Rose? She was the sister
whom the--"

"Just hold the line a moment, sir," implored the porter. "Here's the
gentleman himself coming in."

I handed the telephone to Celia. "Here he is," I said.

But I was quite sorry to go, for I was getting interested in those
sisters. Rose, I think, will always be my favourite. Her life, though
short, was full of incident, and there were many things about her which I
could have told that porter. But perhaps he would not have appreciated
them. It is a hard thing to say of any man, but he appeared to me to be
entirely lacking in intellect.

THE OBVIOUS

Celia had been calling on a newly married friend of hers. They had been
schoolgirls together; they had looked over the same algebra book (or
whatever it was that Celia learnt at school--I have never been quite
certain); they had done their calisthenics side by side; they had
compared picture post cards of Lewis Waller. Ah, me! the fairy princes
they had imagined together in those days ... and here am I, and somewhere
in the City (I believe he is a stockbroker) is Ermyntrude's husband, and
we play our golf on Saturday afternoons, and go to sleep after dinner,
and--Well, anyhow, they were both married, and Celia had been calling on
Ermyntrude.

"I hope you did all the right things," I said. "Asked to see the
wedding-ring, and admired the charming little house, and gave a few hints
on the proper way to manage a husband."

"Rather," said Celia. "But it did seem funny, because she used to be
older than me at school."

"Isn't she still?"

"Oh, _no_! I'm ever so much older now.... Talking about wedding-rings,"
she went on, as she twisted her own round and round, "she's got all sorts
of things written inside hers--the date and their initials and I don't
know what else."

"There can't be much else--unless perhaps she has a very large finger."

"Well, I haven't got _anything_ in mine," said Celia, mournfully. She
took off the offending ring and gave it to me.

On the day when I first put the ring on her finger, Celia swore an oath
that nothing but death, extreme poverty or brigands should ever remove
it. I swore too. Unfortunately