"My dear. I ordered the supper yesterday. We're sharing a table
with the Scarlets. But you needn't have burned my ear."

"Only means some one was talking about you," said Daphne. "Why
did you say you weren't going?"

"A passion for perversity," said I.

Berry stole a cautious glance at the time. The hands stood at a
quarter past three. A slow grin spread over his countenance.

"Didn't you say something about a sacred concert?" he said.
"Good Heavens," cried Daphne, jumping up. "I forgot all about
it. It begins at thr- "

Arrested by her husband's seraphic smile, she swung round and
looked at the clock.

Berry apostrophized the carpet.

"Sweet are the uses of perversity," he said, with inimitable
inflection. For a moment his wife eyed him, speechless with in-
indignation. Then:

"I hope you've got ear-ache," she said.

Berry settled himself among the cushions."

"I have," he said, "But back-ache would have been worse."