t in
such a short time as it is not worth talking about.

Everybody at this is plainly impressed.

"Cook is _such_ a bad hand at plum jam," goes on Miss Blount, with
increasing affectation, that sits funnily on her, "and Uncle Christopher
does so love mine. Don't you, Uncle Christopher?"

"It is the best jam in the world," says Uncle Christopher, promptly,
and without a blush. "But I hope you won't spoil your pretty white
fingers making it for me."

"Oh, no, I shan't," says Dulce, shaking her head sweetly. "Cook does all
the nasty part of it; she is good enough at that."

"I wonder what the nice part of it is?" says Roger, thoughtfully.

"There is no nice part; it is all work--_hard_ work, from beginning to
end," returns his _fiancee_, severely.

"I shan't eat any more of it if it gives you such awful trouble," says
Dicky Browne, gallantly but insincerely; whereupon Roger turns upon him
a glance warm with disgust.

"Dulce," says the Boodie, who is also in the room, going up to Miss
Blount, whom she adores, and clasping her arms round her waist; "let
_me_ go and see you make it; _do_," coaxingly. "I want to get some when
it is _hot_. Mamma's jam is always cold. Darling love of a Dulce, take
me with you and I'll help you to _peel_ them."

"Let us all go in a body and see how it is done," says Sir Mark,
brilliantly. A proposal received with acclamations by the others, and
accepted by Dulce as a special compliment to herself.

They all rise (except Sir Christopher) and move towards the hall. Here
they meet Fabian coming towards them from the library. Seeing the
cavalcade, he stops short to regard them with very pardonable
astonishment.

"Where on earth are you all going?" he asks; "and why are Dulce's arms
bare at this ungodly hour? Are you going in for housepainting, Dulce, or
for murder?"

"Jam," says Miss Blount proudly.

"You give me relief. I breathe again," says Fabian.

"Come with us," says Dulce, fondly.

He hesitates. Involuntarily his eyes seek Portia's. Hers are on the
ground. But even as he looks (as though compelled to meet his earnest
gaze) she raises her head, and turns a sad, little glance upon him.

"Lead, and I follow," he says to Dulce, and once more they all sweep on
towards the lower regions.

"After all, you know," says Dulce, suddenly stopping short on the last
step of the kitchen stairs to harangue the politely dressed mob that
follows at her heels, "it might, perhaps, be as wel