"Oh, for goodness' sake," she snapped, "do try to be human, and don't
always be snubbing people. You remind me of one of those portraits of
men in the eighteenth century, with wooden faces, who look out of heavy
gold frames at you with fishy eyes as if you were a regrettable
incident."

"Rosbif," said the waiter genially, manifesting himself suddenly beside
them as if he had popped up out of a trap.

Bruce Carmyle attacked his roast beef morosely. Sally who was in the
mood when she knew that she would be ashamed of herself later on, but
was full of battle at the moment, sat in silence.

"I am sorry," said Mr. Carmyle ponderously, "if my eyes are fishy. The
fact has not been called to my attention before."

"I suppose you never had any sisters," said Sally. "They would have
told you."

Mr. Carmyle relapsed into an offended dumbness, which lasted till the
waiter had brought the coffee.

"I think," said Sally, getting up, "I'll be going now. I don't seem to
want any coffee, and, if I stay on, I may say something rude. I thought
I might be able to put in a good word for Mr. Kemp and save him from
being massacred, but apparently it's no use. Good-bye, Mr. Carmyle, and
thank you for giving me dinner."

She made her way down the car, followed by Bruce Carmyle's indignant,