"What d'you mean, talking about parts and scenes?" said Berry. "I
thought it was going to be a ball."

"So it is," said his wife. "But people are taking parties, and
every party's going to represent some tale or picture or play or
a bit of it. I've told you all this once."

"Twice," corrected her husband. "Once last night with eclat, and
once this morning with your mouth full, Jilly's told me three
times, and the others once each. That's seven altogether.
Eight, with this. I'm beginning to get the hang of the thing.
Tell me again."

His voice subsided into the incoherent muttering, which
immediately precedes slumber. This was too much. In silence
Jonah handed Daphne his cigarette. By stretching out an arm, as
she lay on the sofa, my sister was just able to apply the burning
tobacco to the lobe of her husband's ear. With a yell the latter
flung his feet from the club-kerb and sat up in his chair. When
he turned, Jonah was placidly smoking in the distance, while
Daphne met her victim's accusing eye with a disdainful stare, her
hands empty in her lap. The table, at which I was writing, shook
with Jill's suppressed merriment.

"The stake's upstairs," said Berry bitterly. "Or would you
rather gouge out my eyes? Will you flay me alive? Because if
so, I'll go and get the knives and things. What about after tea?
Or would you rather get it over?"

"You shouldn't be so tiresome," said Daphne. Berry shook his