they sang, and other voices were stilled to hear them.

Not all voices, however. Mr Webster, who had been somewhat shyly circulating among his guests, most of whom were strangers to him, found that he was being shadowed by a small, monkey-like man, whose face bore traces still of the elaborate makeup of Caliban. What the devil does he want, thought Mr Webster. Perhaps he is worshipping me because I am rich; there are such people. Maybe he hates me because I am rich; that’s far more likely. I wish he wouldn’t dart behind trees like that. But now he was confronted by the creature, and it was necessary to speak.

“I suppose you’ve had something to eat?”

“Yes, indeed, Mr Webster; as a matter of fact, yes.”

“Enough?”

“Oh yes, indeed. An ample sufficiency, as the fellow says. Ha ha.”

“What fellow?”

“Eh? Oh, I guess it was some fellow in a story. Or maybe a movie.”

“I see. I’m very interested in history. I like to find out what fellow said everything, whenever I can.”

“Ha ha. Yes, I guess that’s right.”

“Coffee?”

“Uh? No, no, I’ve had lots of coffee, thank you very much.”

“Cigarette?”

“Oh, thanks very much. But here, you have one of mine.”

“No, thank you. I always smoke cigars.”

“Very wise. A more wholesome smoke, as you might say.”

“I’ve never heard anybody say that.”

“Oh, yes. It’s a well-known thing. Unless somebody happens to give you an exploding cigar. Ha ha.”

“Why would anybody give me an exploding cigar?”

“Oh, just as a joke.”

“I don’t think I’ve even seen an exploding cigar.”

“Oh, haven’t you? Well I’ve got one in my pocket. Here.”

“But I don’t want an exploding cigar.”

“Oh not for yourself, of course. Give it to somebody for a joke.”

“No, no, you keep it.”

“All right. And I certainly wouldn’t offer one to you, Mr Webster. Not after what’s passed between us, I mean.”

“What’s that? Has anything passed between us?”

“Well, there was that matter of the horse.”

“What horse?”

“Well, of course a horse wouldn’t mean much to a man in your position, but a horse could be a very serious item to me. I mean, with my sixty per cent disability because of my kidneys, you see. Frankly, Mr Webster, I wanted to say it to your face; you were white about the horse.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t got a horse.”

“I know. And I take the full blame. You were a prince about it. I hope my letter cleared it all up?”

“Oh! You’re the fellow who killed Old Bill?”

“I did, and I tell you frankly, it shook me up as nothing has shaken me up since the Battle of the Bulge.”

“You’re the fellow who wrote that extraordinary letter?”

“I’m not much of a man with the pen, but I put everything I had into that letter.”

“Oh. Well—you won’t have any more coffee?”

“No sir. Permit me to shake you by the hand.”

“Oh—ah.”

“You’re a white man, GA.”

“Uh.”

“Maybe some day I’ll be able to do as much for you.”

“Ah.”

“The lion and the mouse, you know.”

“Mf.”

His conscience freed of its burden, Geordie walked away toward the group who were listening to the music, and his host scuttled inside to the privacy of his library. To be perfectly sure that no one else could find him and tell him that he was white, he locked the door.

“Well, have you made a new man of him?” Solly had been watching from a distance, and when Hector came from behind the shrubbery where Valentine was, he joined her.

“I doubt it very much,” said she. “He was sorry, and all that, but he didn’t really seem to be listening to me. He said something about private trouble, and a weight on his mind, but all actors do that when they’ve been making a mess of a part.”

“You do him too much honour when you describe him as an actor.”

“No, poor sweet, he’ll never be an actor if he lives to be a thousand. I’ve done my best for him, but only a new heart and a new soul could make an actor of him.”

“You might as well add a new body to the list of requirements. Did you ever see such legs?”

“I know. Beef to the heels. I wanted the costume people to give him a long gown, but they insisted on tights. Long experience has taught me to judge pretty accurately what men are hiding under their trousers.”

“You fill me with apprehension. But I know what you mean. The male leg is rarely a thing of beauty.”

“Yes. I wonder why.”

“It’s very simple. Just an example of evolution, or natural selection, or something. In the periods when women wore long skirts they had awful legs; look at the nudes painted during those periods if you don’t believe me. But when they had to show their legs, they willed fine legs into existence. And when men wore tights they had fine legs too, because they needed them. But modern man conceals his legs, and what have they become? Stovepipes.”

“Or, as in your own case, toothpicks.”

“That X-ray eye of yours makes me uncomfortable. As a matter of fact I possess what I like to define as the Scholarly, or Intellectual Leg. Vambrace has toothpicks, if you talk of toothpicks. I popped into the men’s dressing-room just now to call Mackilwraith, and Vambrace was changing. Do you know that he wears a species of bone-coloured long underwear, even in weather like this? A shocking sight. I felt like the sons of Noah when they had uncovered their father’s nakedness.”

“It’s a mistake to see people dressing. One should see them either dressed or naked; those are the only two decent states. All else is shame and disillusion.”

“Just for curiosity’s sake, why did you refer to Mackilwraith as ‘poor sweet’, just now?”

“He is rather sweet, don’t you think? So serious, and at heart such a really decent, nice man.”

“His pupils don’t think so. He’s a classroom tyrant.”

“Yes, that seems very probable.”

“Then why sweet?”

“Well, he just seems that way to me. I hated to speak hardly to him. What do you care about whether he’s sweet or not?”

“Jealousy, really. I bet you don’t think I’m sweet. Not, upon reflection, that I would care to be so described.”

“Oh, Solly, you’ve far too much intelligence for anything like that, but you’re a darling, all the same, and I do thank you for the help you’ve given me with this show.”

“Val, I love you.”

“What?”

“Oh, don’t be alarmed. I don’t want to marry you, or tag around after you, or monopolize you. I just mean that I love you. You’re a wonderful person and so much like a woman. That sounds silly, of course, but you know what I mean. So many women, even the young and pretty ones, aren’t like women at all. They haven’t got that wonderful, magical quality that real women have—like you. What you are explains what all the really first-rate poets are talking about. You’re the first one I’ve known well who has it, and I love you, and I’ll go on loving you. But it’s nothing for you to worry about—just something for me to enjoy. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes, Solly dear, I do. And I’m very grateful. At my age, you see, it’s very flattering to hear that sort of talk from somebody as young as you. But you mustn’t be foolish about me; you should look for someone younger than yourself.”

“Oh, I certainly will. But I’ll try to find somebody as much as possible like you. And that won’t be easy. Shall we join the others?”

“Yes. And don’t think I shall forget what you have said.”

Solly took Valentine in his arms and kissed her. Then they joined the company on the lawn.

Ever since she had parted with Roger at the Ball, Griselda had been ill at ease. She had wanted to be rid of him. Of that she was perfectly sure. But she had not wanted to lecture him on morality. She had not wanted to pop out that pious little saw about the body being in the soul’s keeping. That was what she meant, of course, but she wished that she had expressed it differently. Still, if she had not done so, what would have happened? Roger had made it plain enough that he wanted her to be his mistress. What a silly expression that was! She didn’t want to be a mistress, and especially not the mistress of somebody like Roger. He hinted too much about his prowess with women. What was it he had said? That a woman’s body should be played upon and made to sing like a musical instrument. He had got that out of Balzac. She had read Balzac on that subject herself, and thought it nonsense. If anybody was going to make her sing like a musical instrument it would have to be somebody who had first of all made her happy as a human being, and Roger had never done that. He was flattering, and amusing, but somehow not very likeable.