ieve I
should blubber. Eh, Joyce--how do you feel?"

"I feel all right," said Joyce. "And he doesn't look a bit like a
brigand chief. He looks splendid." She stood back and surveyed me with
a sort of tender proprietorship.

"I suppose we shall get used to it," remarked Tommy. "It nearly gave
me heart disease to begin with." Then, going and locking the side
door, he added cheerfully, "I vote we have supper at once. I've had
nothing except whisky since I came off the boat."

"Well, there's heaps to eat," said Joyce. "I've been out marketing in
the King's Road."

"What have you got?" demanded Tommy hungrily.

Joyce ticked them off with her fingers. "There's a cold chicken and
salad, some stuffed olives--those are for you, Neil, you always used
to like them--a piece of Stilton cheese and a couple of bottles of
champagne. They're all in the kitchen, so come along both of you and
help me get them."

"Where's the faithful Clara?" asked Tommy.

"I've sent her out for the evening. I didn't want any one to be here
except just us three."

We all trooped into Joyce's tiny kitchen and proceeded to carry back
our supper into the studio, where we set it out on the table in the
centre. We were so ridiculously happy that for some little time our
conversation was inclined to be a trifle incoherent: indeed, it was
not until we had settled down round the table and Tommy had knocked
the head off the first bottle of champagne with the back of his knife
that we in any way got back to our real environment.

It was Joyce who brought about the change. "I keep on feeling I shall
wake up in a minute," she said, "and find out that it's all a dream."

"Put it off as long as possible," said Tommy gravely. "It would be
rotten for Neil to find himself back in Dartmoor before he'd finished
his champagne."

"I don't know when I shall get any more as it is," I said. "I've got
to start work the day after tomorrow."

There was a short pause: Joyce pushed away her plate and leaned
forward, her eyes fixed on mine; while Tommy stretched out his arm and
filled up my glass.

"Go on," he said. "What's happened?"

In as few words as possible I told them about my interview with Sonia,
and showed them the letter which she had brought me from McMurtrie.
They both read it--Joyce first and then Tommy, the latter tossing it
back with a grunt that was more eloquent than any possible comment.

"It's too polite," he said. "It's too damn' polite altogeth