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I've come here, really, to discuss suitable arrangements.”
    “Arrangements?” Clarissa asked, her tone one of puzzlement.
    “Arrangements for Pippa,” Costello explained. “Miranda's quite agreeable to Pippa's spending part of the summer holidays with Henry, and perhaps a week at Christmas. But otherwise-”
    Clarissa interrupted him sharply. “What do you mean?” she asked. “Pippa's home is here.”
    Costello wandered casually over to the table with the drinks on it. “But, my dear Clarissa,” he exclaimed, “you're surely aware that the court gave Miranda the custody of the child?” He picked up a bottle of whisky. “May I?” he asked, and without waiting for a reply poured a drink for himself. “The case was undefended, remember?”
    Clarissa faced him belligerently. “Henry allowed Miranda to divorce him,” she declared, speaking clearly and concisely, “only after it was agreed between them privately that Pippa should live with her father. If Miranda had not agreed to that, Henry would have divorced her.”
    Costello gave a laugh which bordered on a sneer. “You don't know Miranda very well, do you?” he asked. “She so often changes her mind.”
    Clarissa turned away from him. “I don't believe for one moment,” she said contemptuously, “that Miranda wants that child or even cares twopence about her.”
    “But you're not a mother, my dear Clarissa,” was Costello's impertinent response. “You don't mind my calling you Clarissa, do you?” he went on, with another unpleasant smile. “After all, now that I'm married to Miranda, we're practically relations-in-law.”
    He swallowed his drink in one gulp and then put his glass down. “Yes, I can assure you,” he continued, “Miranda is now feeling violently maternal. She feels she must have Pippa to live with us for most of the time.”
    “I don't believe it,” Clarissa snapped.
    “Please yourself,” Costello replied as he made himself comfortable in the armchair. “But there's no point in your trying to contest it. After all, there was no arrangement in writing, you know.”
    “You're not going to have Pippa,” Clarissa told him firmly. “The child was a nervous wreck when she came to us. She's much better now, and she's happy at school, and that's the way she's going to remain.”
    “How will you manage that, my dear?” Costello sneered. “The law is on our side.”
    “What's behind all this?” Clarissa asked him, sounding bewildered. “You don't care about Pippa. What do you really want?” She paused, and then struck her forehead. “Oh! What a fool I am. Of course, it's blackmail.”
    Costello was about to reply when Elgin entered abruptly from the hall. “I was looking for you, madam,” the butler told Clarissa. Seeing Costello with her, he asked, “Will it be quite all right for Mrs. Elgin and myself to leave now for the evening, madam?”
    “Yes, quite all right, Elgin,” Clarissa replied.
    “The taxi has come for us,” the butler explained. “Supper is laid all ready in the dining-room.” He was about to go, but then turned back to Clarissa. “Do you want me to shut up in here, madam?” he asked, keeping an eye on Costello as he spoke.
    “No, I'll see to it,” Clarissa assured him. “You and Mrs. Elgin can go off for the evening now.”
    “Thank you, madam,” said Elgin. He went to the hall door and turned to say, “Good night, madam.”
    “Good night, Elgin,” Clarissa responded.
    Costello waited until the butler had closed the door behind him before he spoke again. Then, “'Blackmail' is a very ugly word, Clarissa,” he pointed out to her somewhat unoriginally. “You should take a little more care before you accuse people wrongfully. Now, have I mentioned money at all?”
    “Not yet,” replied Clarissa. “But that's what you mean, isn't it?”
    Costello shrugged his shoulders and held his hands out in an expressive gesture. “It's true that we're not very well off,” he admitted. “Miranda