he Hebways?" asked Yeovil.

"Dick Hebway is in India," said Cicely, "but his mother lives in Paris;
poor Hugo, you know, was killed in the war. My friends the Allinsons are
in Paris too. It's rather a clearance, isn't it? However, there are
some left, and I expect others will come back in time. Pitherby is here;
he's one of those who are trying to make the best of things under the new
regime."

"He would be," said Yeovil, shortly.

"It's a difficult question," said Cicely, "whether one should stay at
home and face the music or go away and live a transplanted life under the
British flag. Either attitude might be dictated by patriotism."

"It is one thing to face the music, it is another thing to dance to it,"
said Yeovil.

Cicely poured out some more coffee for herself and changed the
conversation.

"You'll be in to lunch, I suppose? The Clubs are not very attractive
just now, I believe, and the restaurants are mostly hot in the middle of
the day. Ronnie Storre is coming in; he's here pretty often these days.
A rather good-looking young animal with something mid-way between talent
and genius in the piano-playing line."

"Not long-haired and Semetic or Tcheque or anything of that sort, I
suppose?" asked Yeovil.

Cicely laughed at the vision of Ronnie conjured up by her husband's
words.

"No, beautifully groomed and clipped and Anglo-Saxon. I expect you'll
like him. He plays bridge almost as well as he plays the piano. I
suppose you wonder at any one who can play bridge well wanting to play
the piano."

"I'm not quite so intolerant as all that," said Yeovil; "anyhow I promise
to like Ronnie. Is any one else coming to lunch?"

"Joan Mardle will probably drop in, in fact I'm afraid she's a certainty.
She invited herself in that way of hers that brooks of no refusal. On
the other hand, as a mitigating circumstance, there will be a point
d'asperge omelette such as few kitchens could turn out, so don't be
late."

Yeovil set out for his morning walk with the curious sensation of one who
starts on a voyage of discovery in a land that is well known to him. He
turned into the Park at Hyde Park corner and made his way along the
familiar paths and alleys that bordered the Row. The familiarity
vanished when he left the region of fenced-in lawns and rhododendron
bushes and came to the open space that stretched away beyond the
bandstand. The bandstand was still there, and a military band, in sky-
blue Sax