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and it came to him so suddenly that he almost gasped. Of course he had seen this couplebefore; they were Rupert and Niamh O’Brien, and he had seen their picture in
The Irish Tatler
. Rupert O’Brien, the critic, and his wife, Niamh, the famous actress (recently Juno in
Juno and the Paycock
).
    Mrs. O’Connor served the drinks and then withdrew, announcing that dinner would be in twenty minutes.
    Rupert O’Brien sat back on the sofa.
    â€œBliss,” he announced to the room at large. “A whole weekend ahead of us with no telephone.”
    Fatty plucked up the courage to say something.
    â€œNo telephone,” he remarked.
    Rupert O’Brien glanced in his direction briefly and then looked at the others.
    â€œSuch a peaceful place,” he said. “Such intriguing shades of the past.”
    What did that mean? Fatty wondered. Did it merely suggest that the house was old, in which case why was that intriguing?
    Taking a sip of his gin and tonic, he plucked up his courage again. After all, why should he not contribute to the discussion? If Rupert O’Brien could say something about the house, then he could too.
    â€œHow old is this house?” he ventured.
    There was a silence. The pianist and her party lookedat one another, but said nothing.
    â€œQuite old, I suspect,” said Betty. “We have nothing this old in Arkansas.”
    â€œOh it’s not old at all,” said Rupert O’Brien airily. “Late Victorian. Lamb dressed up as mutton, so to speak.”
    â€œThat’s quite old,” said Betty. “In the United States everything is much newer. Victorian is pretty old.”
    â€œAge is relative, of course,” said Rupert O’Brien. “Our children regard us as terribly old. But I’m not old at all.”
    â€œHow old are you?” asked Betty pleasantly.
    The silence that resulted seemed cold.
    â€œI wonder if there are fish in the lake,” Fatty said hurriedly.
    Everybody looked at him.
    â€œVast numbers, I suspect,” said Rupert O’Brien, still glaring at Betty. “Young fish, old fish …”
    â€œWell,” said the pianist cheerfully. “They’re under no threat from me. I have never succeeded in catching a fish in my life. Not one.”
    â€œI caught a big fish last month,” Fatty chipped in. “My friend Tubby O’Rourke and I went up to one of the lakes in the north of our state and I caught a very large fish. Tubby caught quite a few, but none of them very large. I think he was using the wrong sort of fly.”
    â€œOh,” said Rupert O’Brien.
    â€œIt was delicious,” said Betty. “I barbecued it. Fresh fish is delicious when barbecued with some lemon and butter.”
    Niamh now made her first contribution.
    â€œPoor fish. I do feel so sorry for them. One moment in those gorgeous watery depths and the next moment in the cruel air, gasping for breath.”
    â€œOh I don’t know, my dear,” said Rupert O’Brien. “I expect that fish would catch us, if they could. One mustn’t romanticise nature. I’m for Darwin rather than Ruskin. Survival of the fishes, you know.”
    He burst out laughing, and Fatty, although he did not take the reference, immediately joined in.
    â€œHa!” said Fatty. “Ruskin!”
    At this point the pianist sat down and began to play determinedly. This ended the conversation until Mrs. O’Connor returned to call them in for dinner.

6
    I T WAS THE CUSTOM AT Mountpenny House for all the guests to dine together at one large table, as they would do if they were weekend guests in a country house. Individual tables were allowed at breakfast, when the desire to make conversation might be expected to be less pressing; and again weekend guests would have been expected to come down at different times.
    Fatty and Betty were the first to go through, and established themselves in chairs near the window. They