a bath properly."

"That's rather an idea," said Daphne.

"Simply sparkling," said her husband. "Personally, I've got something
better to do than to burst down to South London, and stagger round
floor after floor, staring at baths."

"You needn't worry," said Daphne coolly. "I wouldn't go with you for a
hundred pounds."

Berry turned to us others.

"Yet we love one another," he said, with a leer in his wife's
direction. "In reality I am the light of her eyes. The acetylene gas,
as it were, of her existence. Well, well." He rose and stretched
himself. "I wash my hands of the whole matter. Note the appropriate
simile. Install what cistern you please. If approached properly, I
may consent to test the work when complete. Mind you spare no expense."

"We don't propose to," said Daphne.

Berry regarded her sorrowfully.

"I suppose," he said, "I suppose you know what word will be found at
the post-mortem graven upon my heart?"

"What?" said Daphne, stifling a yawn.

"Plunge."

It was quite a good day to choose a bath. True, it was winter. But
then the sun was shining out of a clear, blue sky, there was a rare
freshness in the London air, and beneath me--for I was crossing
Westminster Bridge--old Thames marched all a-glitter. I watched his
passage gratefully. It was that of a never-ending band. Playing all
the way, too, but silently. Yet, the music was there. The pity was
that one could not hear it. The pomp, the swagger, the swing of the
Guards, the shifting movement, the bright array--all these were
unmistakable. The very lilt of the air made itself felt. Very cheery.
Certainly, the river was en fete.

It had been arranged that the selection of an appropriate bath should
be made by Daphne, Jonah, and me. When I came down to breakfast to
find that Jonah had already left for Huntercombe, I was more hurt than
surprised. But, when Daphne appeared during the marmalade, clad in a
new riding-habit, I made haste to empty my mouth.

"You can't ride there," I said. "The traffic's too heavy. Besides,
the tram-lines--"

"You don't want me, old chap," said my sister, stooping to lay her soft
cheek against mine, as she passed to her place.

I drank some coffee with an injured air. Then:

"This," I said, "is low down. Not nice. I don't like it in you. It
argues--"

"--the confidence we repose in your judgment," said Daphne.

"Yes, brother," said Berry, looking up from The Sportsman. "