ments
impassively. Then suddenly she hung her long, delicate fingers over
the box, in doubt, and spasmodically jabbed at the cigarettes, clumsily
raking one out at last.

"Thank you, dear--thank you," she cried, rather high, looking up and
smiling once more. He turned calmly aside, offering the cigarettes to
Scott, who refused.

"Oh!" said Julia, sucking the end of her cigarette. "Robert is so happy
with all the good things--aren't you dear?" she sang, breaking into a
hurried laugh. "We aren't used to such luxurious living, we aren't--ARE
WE DEAR--No, we're not such swells as this, we're not. Oh, ROBBIE, isn't
it all right, isn't it just all right?" She tailed off into her hurried,
wild, repeated laugh. "We're so happy in a land of plenty, AREN'T WE
DEAR?"

"Do you mean I'm greedy, Julia?" said Robert.

"Greedy!--Oh, greedy!--he asks if he's greedy?--no you're not greedy,
Robbie, you're not greedy. I want you to be happy."

"I'm quite happy," he returned.

"Oh, he's happy!--Really!--he's happy! Oh, what an accomplishment! Oh,
my word!" Julia puckered her eyes and laughed herself into a nervous
twitching silence.

Robert went round with the matches. Julia sucked her cigarette.

"Give us a light, Robbie, if you ARE happy!" she cried.

"It's coming," he answered.

Josephine smoked with short, sharp puffs. Julia sucked wildly at her
light. Robert returned to his red wine. Jim Bricknell suddenly roused
up, looked round on the company, smiling a little vacuously and showing
his odd, pointed teeth.

"Where's the beer?" he asked, in deep tones, smiling full into
Josephine's face, as if she were going to produce it by some sleight of
hand. Then he wheeled round to the table, and was soon pouring beer down
his throat as down a pipe. Then he dropped supine again. Cyril Scott was
silently absorbing gin and water.

"I say," said Jim, from the remote depths of his sprawling. "Isn't there
something we could do to while the time away?"

Everybody suddenly laughed--it sounded so remote and absurd.

"What, play bridge or poker or something conventional of that sort?"
said Josephine in her distinct voice, speaking to him as if he were a
child.

"Oh, damn bridge," said Jim in his sleep-voice. Then he began pulling
his powerful length together. He sat on the edge of his chair-seat,
leaning forward, peering into all the faces and grinning.

"Don't look at me like that--so long--" said Josephine, in her
self-contained vo