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moment Mandrake wondered if Nicholas Compline would turn on his heel and walk out, but after checking, with Jonathan’s hand still at his elbow, he merely stood stock-still and looked from William to Chloris Wynne. His face was as pale as his brother’s was red and there was a kind of startled sneer about his lips. It was Miss Wynne who saved the situation. She unclenched her hands and gave Nicholas a coster’s salute, touching her forehead and spreading out her palm towards him. Mandrake guessed that this seriocomic gesture was foreign to her, and applauded her courage.
    “
Oi
,” said Miss Wynne.
    “
Oi, oi
,” said Nicholas, and returned her salute. He looked at William and said in a flat voice, “Quite a family party.”
    His mother held out her hand to him. He moved swiftly towards her and sat on the arm of her chair. Mandrake saw adoration in her eyes and mentally rubbed his hands together. “The mother-fixation,” he thought, “is
not
going to let me down.” And he began to warn himself against the influence of Eugene O’Neill. William and his Chloris remained in the window. Jonathan, after a bird-like glance at them, embarked on a comfortable three-cornered chat with Mrs. Compline and Nicholas. Mandrake, sitting in the shadow, found himself free to watch the lovers, and again he gloated. At first William and Chloris stared out through the windows and spoke in undertones. She pointed to something outside, but Mandrake felt certain the gesture was a bluff and that they were discussing hurriedly the arrival of Nicholas. Presently he observed a small incident that he thought curious and illuminating. It was a sort of dumb show, an interplay of looks subdued to the exigencies of polite behaviour, a quartette of glances. William had turned from the window and was staring at his mother. She had been talking with an air that almost approached gaiety to Nicholas. She looked into his face and a smile, painful in its intensity, lifted the drooping corners of her mouth. Nicholas’ laugh was louder than the conversation seemed to warrant and Mandrake saw that he was looking over his mother’s head full at Chloris Wynne. Mandrake read a certain insolence in this open-eyed direct stare of Nicholas. He turned to see how the lady took it and found that she returned it with interest. They looked steadfastly and inimically into each other’s eyes. Nicholas laughed again and William, as if warned by this sound, turned from his sombre contemplation of his mother and stared first at Nicholas and then at Miss Wynne. Neither of them paid the smallest attention to him but Mandrake thought that Nicholas was very well aware of his brother. He thought Nicholas, in some way that was clearly perceived by the other two, was deliberately baiting William. Jonathan’s voice broke across this little pantomime.
    “…a long time,” Jonathan was saying, “since I treated myself to one of my own parties, and I don’t mind confessing that I look forward enormously to this one.”
    Miss Wynne joined the group round the fire and William followed her.
    “Is this the party?” she asked, “or are we only the beginning?”
    “The most important beginning, Miss Chloris, without which the end would be nothing.”
    “Who else have you got, Jonathan?” asked Nicholas, with his eyes still on Miss Wynne.
    “Well, now, I don’t know that I shall tell you, Nick. Or shall I? It’s always rather fun, don’t you think,” Jonathan said, turning his glance towards Mrs. Compline, “to let people meet without giving them any preconceived ideas about each other? However, you know one of my guests so well that it doesn’t matter if I anticipate her arrival. Hersey Amblington.”
    “Old Hersey’s coming; is she?” said Nicholas, and he looked a little disconcerted.
    “Don’t be too ruthless with your adjectives, Nick,” said Jonathan mildly. “Hersey is ten years my junior.”
    “You’re ageless, Jonathan.”
    “Charming of you, but