was well and truly laid,
not too near the bed and not too near the mirror of the wardrobe, and
that the machine did indeed rest in the mathematical centre of the
blanket. (As a fact, Aunt Annie's mathematics never agreed with
Sarah's.) Then Mrs. Knight went upstairs to bear witness that the window
was shut, and to decide the question of towels. Then Sarah went
upstairs, panting, with the kettles and the large saucepan, two journeys
being necessary; and Aunt Annie followed her in order to indicate to
Sarah every step upon which Sarah had spilled boiling-water. Then Mrs.
Knight moved the key of Henry's door from the inside to the outside; she
was always afraid lest he might lock himself in and be seized with a
sudden and fatal illness. Then the women dispersed, and Aunt Annie came
down to the dining-room, and in accents studiously calm (as though the
preparation of Henry's bath was the merest nothing) announced:

'Henry dear, your bath is waiting.'

And Henry would disappear at once and begin by mixing his bath, out of
the ewers, the kettles, and the saucepan, according to a recipe of which
he alone had the secret. The hour would be about nine o'clock, or a
little after. It was not his custom to appear again. He would put one
kettle out on an old newspaper, specially placed to that end on the
doormat in the passage, for the purposes of Sunday's breakfast; the rest
of the various paraphernalia remained in his room till the following
morning. He then slept the sleep of one who is aware of being the
nation's backbone.

Now, he was just putting a toe or so into the zinc receptacle, in order
to test the accuracy of his dispensing of the recipe, when he heard a
sharp tap at the bedroom door.

'What is it?' he cried, withdrawing the toe.

'Henry!'

'Well?'

'Can I open the door an inch?' It was Aunt Annie's voice.

'Yes. What's the matter?'

'There's come a copy of _Home and Beauty_ by the last post, and on the
wrapper it says, "See page 16."'

'I suppose it contains that--thing?'

'That interview, you mean?'

'Yes, I suppose so.'

'Shall I open it?'

'If you like,' said Henry. 'Certainly, with pleasure.'

He stepped quietly and unconcernedly into the bath. He could hear the
sharp ripping of paper.

'Oh yes!' came Aunt Annie's voice through the chink. 'And there's the
portrait! Oh! and what a smudge across the nose! Henry, it doesn't make
you look at all nice. You're too black. Oh, Henry! what _do_ you thi