"So I did," she said guiltily. "I meant diamonds."

"I see," said her husband grimly. "After all, they're both red, aren't
they?"

Here the laughter which Anne and Anthony had been endeavouring to
restrain broke out tempestuously. Betty's procedure and bearing at the
Bridge table would have unhinged an enthusiast, but since the four
domestics played for amusement and a penny a hundred her short-comings
hurt nobody and were highly diverting.

With a sorrowful look at his opponents, George proceeded laboriously to
amass three tricks.

With the game went the rubber, and by mutual consent the party broke
up. It was half-past nine, and all had duties to do. Anne went
singing to fill Mrs. Bumble's hot-water bottle, and Betty to heat the
milk which it was her mistress's practice to consume at bed-time. Mr.
Bumble, as became his sex, favoured something more substantial, and
light refreshment in the shape of a ham sandwich and a bottle of beer
before retiring suited him admirably. In Anthony he had a
conscientious victualler. The sandwich was invariably fresh, the
bottle of beer untasted, the glass clean. Mr. Bumble had marked these
qualities and hugged himself.

This night, when Anthony entered the dressing-room, his master was
sitting coatless upon a chair.

"I beg your pardon, sir," said Lyveden, "I hope you've not been
waiting."

"No, no," was the cheery reply. "Not your fault, me boy. I'm early.
There now! Maria!" Mrs. Bumble appeared in her doorway in a red
dressing-gown. "Look at that there tray, me dear. Ain't it a treat?"

"Deluscious!" said Mrs. Bumble.

"The very look," continued Mr. Bumble, "o' that sanwidge makes me that
'ungry you wouldden believe."

"May I cut you another one, sir?" said Anthony.

"'Ark at the boy," said his employer. "Wants ter kill me with
kindness. Why, I could eat sixty, I could. But one's too many,
reelly, at my time o' life."

"Joo drink beer, Tony?" inquired Mrs. Bumble.

"Yes, madam."

"Then go an' 'ave a nice bottle," she said, beaming.

"Thank you very much, madam."

"Yes, an' give George one," said Mr. Bumble, not to be outdone in
generosity.

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it," was the agreeable reply.

Anthony bade them "Good night" and left them breathing good-will.

As he descended the stairs, the particular verity of the adage which
Valerie had quoted upon a memorable afternoon nearly three weeks ago
appealed to him forcibly. "Be