said Charles, and pocketed the tickets.

On the following morning I perceived a large crinkly frown at the
opposite end of the breakfast table, and, rightly divining that Arabella
was behind it, asked her what the trouble was.

"It's the Messington-Smiths," she complained. "They can't have us to
dinner after all. It seems that Mrs. Messington-Smith has a bad sore
throat."

"Any throat would be sore," I replied, "that had Mrs. Messington-Smith
talking through it. I wonder whether Charles is using those tickets."

"You might ring up and see."

To step lightly to the telephone, ask for Charles's number, get the
wrong one, ask again, find that he had gone to his office, ring him up
there and get through to him, was the work of scarcely fifteen minutes.
"Charles," I said, "are you using those two stalls of mine to-day?"

"Awfully sorry," he replied, "but I can't go myself. I gave them away
yesterday evening."

"Wurzel!" I said. "Who to?"

"To whom," he corrected gently. "To a dull man I met in the City named
Messington-Smith."

"Named _what_?" I shrieked.

"Messington-Smith. _M_ for Mpret, _E_ for Eiderdown----"

"Where does he live?"

"21, Morpheus Avenue."

For a moment the room seemed to spin round me. I put down the
transmitter and pressed my hand to my forehead. Then in a shaking voice
I continued--"Of all the double-barrelled, unmitigated, blue-faced----"

"What number, please?" sang a sweet soprano voice. I rang off, and went
to break the news to Arabella.

She was silent for a few moments, and then asked me suddenly,
"Whereabouts in the stalls were those seats of ours?"

"Almost in the middle of the third row," I replied mournfully.

Arabella said no more, but with a rather disdainful smile on her face
walked firmly to her little escritoire, sat down, wrote a note, and
addressed it to Mrs. Messington-Smith.

"What have you said?" I asked, as she stamped her letter with a rather
vicious jab on KING GEORGE'S left eye.

"Just that I am sorry about her old sore throat," she replied. "And then
I went on, that wasn't it funny by the same post we had been given two
stalls for _The Purple Lie_ to-night in a very good place in the middle
of the third row? She will get the letter by lunch-time," she added
pensively, "and it will be so nice for her to know that we shall be
sitting almost next to them."

"But we aren't going to _The Purple Lie_ at all," I protested.

"No," she said, "and as a matter of