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Ellie my dear, mind these plates, for they’re piping hot.”
    When they got back into the dining-room Jimmy was off on one of his interminable stories.
    “So I said to Haversham—not the Haversham you remember, Antony—he died, poor chap—this is a nephew, son of the brother who went up North. Now what did he go in for— blest if I can remember. It couldn’t have been engineering, because he wasn’t any good at figures. I think it must have been a shipping-office or—well, it doesn’t matter, but this Haversham is his son. Not a bad young fellow, but of course he don’t know the first thing about farming. Started to tell me about olive crops in Italy—he was there with the Eighth Army—and what he had to say about the climate! And I said to him, ‘Well, you know, Haversham, olives are olives, and all very well for the Eyeties, but they won’t grow here, and that’s that…’ ” The story flowed along. It entertained Jimmy tremendously, and it never got anywhere.
    Instead of being bored, Antony found himself at his ease as he had not been for years. It was all so much the stuff of which he had been shaped and made—the family party, the girls coming and going, Jimmy so pleased that you couldn’t help being pleased, too. What did it matter if his stories never got anywhere? People who could tell a good story are three a penny. It was only among your own people that you didn’t need to shine, because that wasn’t what mattered. Your own people were your own people. You could take them for granted, and be taken for granted by them. The bosom of the family was an extraordinarily restful place.
    In the middle of this he turned his head and caught a glance from Lois. It was as bright and hard as a diamond. It despised Jimmy. It beckoned Antony to despise him, too. Suddenly and fiercely he hated her for an alien.
    When dinner was over Lois trailed away to the drawing-room, taking the two men with her—Antony’s attempt to stay behind and make himself useful receiving no encouragement from anyone, and Jimmy’s “No, no—the girls will see to it” being reinforced by Julia’s “Run away and play— you’ll only be under our feet.”
    Out in the pantry she turned to Ellie.
    “How many take coffee? I don’t, for one, so it’s no use putting on a cup for me. Which are you using?”
    “The old Worcester. Minnie and I don’t take it either, and Jimmy has given it up, so it’s only Lois and Antony, and Lois takes Turkish.”
    “How like Lois! Well, Antony won’t drink Turkish. And he likes milk.”
    “Manny’s got it all ready. Lois just has a cup. She has a drop of vanilla in it. And put the little bottle of cognac on the tray.”
    Julia made a face.
    “What muck!”
    The others were out on the terrace. Beyond a grey retaining wall the level turf took the shadow of the cedar which was Jimmy’s pride. It had cones on it this year, like flocks of little owls roosting on the great spreading branches. On the other side of the lawn a wide herbaceous border displayed a glowing pattern of every lovely tint, enriched by the evening sun. One of those perfect windless evenings when a sky without a cloud has lost the heat which veiled its delicate blue.
    They came in reluctantly, first one, and then another. Antony’s mood of contentment deepened. His momentary anger had passed. He felt at peace with all the world.
    It was when Minnie Mercer was going out of the room with the coffee tray that Lois got up and went out too. She hurried past Minnie in the hall, actually brushing against the tray and bringing down Antony’s cup with a clatter.
    Minnie went on to the pantry, where she washed up the cups and put them away. Polly Pell was busy with the dinner things, wiping the glasses very slowly and carefully as Mrs. Maniple had taught her—a thin child of seventeen with a sensitive look. Minnie talked to her for a minute or two about a married sister whose first baby had just been christened, thought the name