hich she insisted on
bathing the bump till Ted remarked disgruntledly that he smelt like
a hospital. Oliver watched the domestic scene with frantic laughter
tearing at his vitals--this was so entirely different and unromantic an
end to the evening from that from which Oliver had set out to rescue Ted
like a spectacled Mr. Grundy and which Ted in his gust of madness had so
bitterly and grandiosely planned.

Then they moved back into the living-room and the story was related
consecutively, by Oliver with fanciful adornments, by Mrs. Severance
with a chill self-satisfaction that Oliver noticed with pleasure was
like touching icicles to Ted. Ted gave his version--which only amounted
to waking up on the fire-escape, trying to shout and succeeding
merely in getting mouthfuls of towels--Oliver preened himself a little
there--and lying there stoically and getting more and more furious until
he was rescued. And while he told it he kept looking everywhere in the
room but at Rose. And then Oliver remembered Mr. Piper and looked at his
watch--11.04. He rose and gazed at Mrs. Severance.

"Well," he said, and then caught her eye. It was chilly, doubtless, and
even by Oliver's unconventional standards he could not think of her as
anything but a highly dangerous and disreputable woman--but that eye
was alive with an irony and humor that seemed to him for a moment more
perfect than those in any person he had ever seen. "_Must_ you go?" she
said sweetly. "It's been _such_ an interesting party--so _original_,"
she hesitated. "Isn't that the word? Of course," she shrugged, "I can
see that you're simply dying to get away and yet you can hardly complain
that I haven't been an entertaining hostess, can you?"

"Hardly," said Oliver meekly, and Ted said nothing--he merely looked
down as if his eyes were augers and his only concern in life was
screwing them into the floor.

"_Must_ you go?" she repeated with merciless mocking. "When it _has_
been fun--and I don't suppose we'll ever see each other again in all
our lives? For I can hardly come out to Melgrove now, can I, Oliver? And
after you've had a quiet brotherly talk with her, I suppose I'll even
have to give up lunching with Louise. And as for Ted--poor Ted--poor Mr.
Billett with all his decorations of the Roller Towel, First Class--Mr.
Billett must be a child that has been far too well burnt this evening,
not, in any imaginable future to dread the fire?"

Both flushed, Ted deeper perha