ow anything of still champagne?" he enquired darkly, as though
he were giving a pass-word.

"I've _drunk_ it, of course," answered Eric.

"Of course?" Lord Poynter echoed. "My dear friend, not one man in twenty
thousand of your generation has even _heard_ of still champagne. . . ."

It was all wonderfully like that first night fifteen months before. Lord
Poynter explained for the tenth time that he never allowed coffee to be
brought in until the port wine had circulated for twenty minutes. Not
for the first time he apologized for his brandy, retailed the tragedy of
the last bottle of Waterloo and, like a sluggard dragging himself from
bed, reluctantly moved the adjournment.

They arrived in the drawing-room to find three tables set for bridge.
Though he had asked her to talk to him, Eric was relieved to find
Barbara already playing; he had nothing more to say. There was nothing,
indeed, to keep a man whose train left Euston before noon next day. He
waited till Lady Poynter was dummy and then asked her to excuse him.

"Well, I expect you've a great deal to do," she said, shaking hands
reluctantly.

"Oh, Eric, aren't you going to take me home?"

Barbara threw out the question casually, but she found time to look up
and beseech him with her eyes.

"Are you going to be long?" he asked in the same tone.

"They're a game and sixteen. If you'll smoke _one_ cigarette . . ."

In the next hand Barbara was dummy. After spreading out her cards, she
looked round the room, picked up a review and two library novels from a
side table and, after a cursory glance, walked to the piano. The
bridge-players looked up, as she began to sing; an impatient, "It's you
to play, Lady Poynter," passed unheeded; and, one after another, they
laid down their hands.

"_One fine day, we'll notice
A thread of smoke arising on the sea
In the far horizon,
And then the ship appearing;--
Then the trim white vessel
Glides into the harbour, thunders forth her cannon.
See you? He is coming!
I do not go to meet him. Not I. I stay
Upon the brow of the hillock and wait, and wait
For a long time, but never weary
Of the long waiting.
From out the crowded city,
There is coming a man--
A little speck in the distance, climbing the hillock.
Can you guess who it is?
And when he's reached the summit
Can you guess what he'll say?
He will call 'Butterfly' from the distance.