ly at the mercy of whoever controlled the preparation of
our food, and, unless the situation improved considerably, the prospect
was far from palatable.

Moodily I extinguished my cigarette and filled and lighted a pipe in its
stead. Then I remembered my threat.

Berry was writing a letter, so I extracted a sheet of notepaper from the
left-hand drawer and, taking a pencil from my pocket, sat down on the
sofa and set to work to compose an advertisement calculated to allure
the most suspicious and _blasee_ cook that ever was foaled.

Jill sat labouring with her needle upon a dainty tea-cloth, pausing now
and again to hold a whispered and one-sided conversation with Nobby, who
lay at inelegant ease supine between us. Perched upon the arm of a deep
armchair, my sister was subjecting the space devoted by five daily
papers to the announcement of "Situations Required" to a second and more
leisurely examination.

Presently she rose with a sigh and crossed to the telephone.

We knew what was coming.

Every night she and Katharine Festival communicated to one another their
respective failures of the day. More often than not, these took the
simple form of "negative information."

She was connected immediately.

"Hullo, that you, Katharine? ... Yes, Daphne. Any luck? ... Not much.
You know, it's simply hopeless. What? ... 'Widow with two boys of seven
and nine'? Thank you. I'd rather ... Exactly ... Well, I don't know. I'd
give it up, only it's so awful ... Awful."

"If she doesn't believe it, ask her to dinner," said Berry.

"Shut up," said Daphne. "It's all right, Katharine. I was speaking to
Berry ... Oh, he's fed to the teeth."

"I cannot congratulate you," said her husband, "upon your choice of
metaphor."

My sister ignored the interruption.

"Oh, rather ... His food means a lot to him, you know."

"This," said her husband, "is approaching the obscene. I dine off tepid
wash and raw fish, I am tormented by the production of a once luscious
fillet deliberately rendered unfit for human consumption, and I am
deprived of my now ravening appetite by the nauseating reek from the
shock of whose assault I am still trying to rally my olfactory nerves.
All this I endure with that unfailing good----"

"Will you be quiet?" said his wife. "How can I---"

"No, I won't," said Berry. "My finer feelings are outraged. And that
upon an empty stomach. I shall write home and ask to be taken away. I
shall----"

"Katharine," sai