purpose."

"I'm awfully sorry," said Berry. "I quite thought----"

"You liar!" said Jill heatedly. "You did it on purpose. You know you
did. Daphne, he's gone and put my hand in the ginger."

"It'll wear off, dear," said Berry. "It'll wear off. By the time
Piers is back, you'll hardly know...."

The apologetic entry of Falcon with two inches of candle upon a plate
cut short the prophecy.

As he solemnly set the brand in the centre of the table, the light
returned with a flash....

It was when the butler had placed the wine before Berry and was about
to withdraw, that Daphne asked for the chocolates.

Falcon peered at the table.

"They were there, madam," he said.

Berry looked round uneasily.

"I think, perhaps," he began stooping to feel under his chair, "I
think--I mean, fearing lest in the confusion...."

He broke off, to stare at a small silver bowl which was as bare as his
hand.

Daphne took a deep breath.

"And that was full," she said witheringly. "And you sat there and let
us feel all over the table, and pretended you were looking, and put
Jill's hand in the ginger, and all the time----"

"I never ate one," said Berry. "I never...." He stopped short and
looked round the room. "Nobby!"

The Sealyham emerged from beneath the table, wide-eyed, expectant.

Sternly my brother-in-law held out the bowl.

Never was guilt more plainly betrayed.

The pricked ears fell flat: the bright brown eyes sank to the floor:
the pert white tail was lowered incontinently. Nobby had hauled down
his flag.

"Oh, Nobby!"

The terrier squirmed, laid his head upon the ground, and then rolled
over upon his back....

"You can't blame the dog," said I. "Besides, he'll pay for it.
Quarter of a pound of chocolates'll fairly----"

"I've just remembered," said Daphne, "that they weren't chocolates at
all. They were _marrons glaces_--the last of the bunch. They won't
make any more this year."

Berry wiped his forehead,

"Are you saying this," he demanded, "to torment me? Or is it true?"

"It's a C.B. fact."

"But what about tea?" screamed her husband. "Tea without a _marron
glace_ will be like--like Hell without the Prince of Darkness."

"I can't help it. France has a close season for them."

Berry hid his face in his hands.

"Under my chair!" he wailed. "The last of the bunch (sic). And I
never ate one!"

"Come, come," said I. "Similarly placed, what would Epicurus have
done?"

"I k