clatter of conversation and everybody having a good time and enjoying
themselves.

"Ellen!" called Parker, as he proceeded down the passage to the empty
dining-room. "Ellen!"

Mrs Parker appeared out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. Her work
for the evening, like her husband's, was over. Presently what is
technically called a "useful girl" would come in to wash the dishes,
leaving the evening free for social intercourse. Mrs Parker had done
well by her patrons that night, and now she wanted a quiet chat with
Parker over a glass of Freddie Rooke's port.

"Have they gone, Horace?" she asked, following him into the
dining-room.

Parker selected a cigar from Freddie's humidor, crackled it against
his ear, smelt it, clipped off the end, and lit it. He took the
decanter and filled his wife's glass, then mixed himself a
whisky-and-soda.

"Happy days!" said Parker. "Yes, they've gone!"

"I didn't see her ladyship."

"You didn't miss much! A nasty, dangerous specimen, she is! 'Always
merry and bright', I don't think. I wish you'd have had my job of
waiting on 'em, Ellen, and me been the one to stay in the kitchen
safe out of it all. That's all I say! It's no treat to _me_ to 'and
the dishes when the atmosphere's what you might call electric. I