conversation held no mysteries, interpreted.

'The mustard, Prebble? Yes, yes. Would you mind passing Prebble the
mustard, Mr Jackson?'

'Oh, sorry,' gasped Mike, and, reaching out, upset the water-jug into
the open jam-tart.

Through the black mist which rose before his eyes as he leaped to his
feet and stammered apologies came the dispassionate voice of Master
Edward Waller reminding him that mustard was first introduced into Peru
by Cortez.

His host was all courtesy and consideration. He passed the matter off
genially. But life can never be quite the same after you have upset a
water-jug into an open jam-tart at the table of a comparative stranger.
Mike's nerve had gone. He ate on, but he was a broken man.

At the other end of the table it became gradually apparent that things
were not going on altogether as they should have done. There was a sort
of bleakness in the atmosphere. Young Mr Richards was looking like a
stuffed fish, and the face of Mr Waller's niece was cold and set.

'Why, come, come, Ada,' said Mr Waller, breezily, 'what's the matter?
You're eating nothing. What's George been saying to you?' he added
jocularly.

'Thank you, uncle Robert,' replied Ada precisely, 'there's nothing the
matter. Nothing that Mr Richards can say to me can upset me.'