Perkins looked behind them, at the solemn young footmen passing
and repassing, noiselessly, in blue and white liveries. _They_ had
Submitted. And it was just because they had been able to that they
were no good.

"Damn!" said Perkins, under his breath.


§3.

One of the big conifers from the park had been erected in the hall,
and this, after dinner, was found to be all lighted up with electric
bulbs and hung with packages in tissue paper.

The Duchess stood, a bright, feral figure, distributing these packages
to the guests. Perkins' name was called out in due course and the
package addressed to him was slipped into his hand. He retired
with it into a corner. Inside the tissue-paper was a small morocco
leather case. Inside that was a set of diamond and sapphire
sleeve-links--large ones.

He stood looking at them, blinking a little.

He supposed he must put them on. But something in him,
some intractably tough bit of his old self, rose up
protesting--frantically.

If he couldn't Use these people, at least they weren't going to Use
_him_!