r with unsurpassable tact.
The adjectives he applied to it were short and emphatic and spoken
with a full mouth. He ate the supper; he kept on eating it; he passed
his plate with alacrity; he refused naught. And as the meal neared its
end he emitted those natural inarticulate noises from his throat which
in Persia are a sign of high breeding. Useless for Rachel in her heart
to call him a glutton--his attitude towards her supper was impeccable.

And now the solid part of the supper was over. One extremity of the
Chesterfield had been drawn closer to the fire--an operation easily
possible in its new advantageous position--and Louis as master of the
house had mended the fire after his own method, and Rachel sat upright
(somewhat in the manner of Mrs. Maldon) in the arm-chair opposite Mr.
Batchgrew, extended half-reclining on the Chesterfield. And Mrs. Tams
entered with coffee.

"You'll have coffee, Mr. Batchgrew?" said the hostess.

"Nay, missis! I canna' sleep after it."

Secretly enchanted by the sweet word "missis," Rachel was nevertheless
piqued by this refusal.

"Oh, but you must have some of Louise's coffee," said Louis, standing
negligently in front of the fire.

Already, though under a month old as a husband, Louis, following the
eternal example of good husbands, had acquired the sure belief that
his wife could achieve a higher degree of excellence in certain
affairs than any other wife in the world. He had selected coffee as
Rachel's speciality.

"Louise's?" repeated old Batchgrew, puzzled, in his heavy voice.

Rachel flushed and smiled.

"He calls me Louise, you know," said she.

"Calls you Louise, does he?" Batchgrew muttered indifferently. But he
took a cup of coffee, stirred part of its contents into the saucer
and on to the Chesterfield, and began to sup the remainder with a
prodigious splutter of ingurgitation.

"And you must have a cigarette, too," Louis carelessly insisted. And
Mr. Batchgrew agreed, though it was notorious that he only smoked once
in a blue moon, because all tobacco was apt to be too strong for him.

"You can clear away," Rachel whispered, in the frigid tones of one
accustomed to command cohorts of servants in the luxury of historic
castles.

"Yes, ma'am," Mrs. Tams whispered back nervously, proud as a
major-domo, though with less than a major-domo's aplomb.

No pride, however, could have outclassed Rachel's. She had had a full
day, and the evening was the crown of the da