‘You bad girl! Counting your chickens before they are hatched!’

‘I’m not. He told me he’d leave me some money. Besides, he’s bound to: I’m his only niece.’

It was plain that Joseph could not quite approve of this cool way of putting the matter. He said tut-tut, and squeezed Paula’s hand again.

Maud, who had brought the Diplomat to a triumphant conclusion, was inspired to suggest suddenly that Paula should recite something. ‘I am very fond of a good recitation,’ she said. ‘I remember that I used to know a very touching poem about a man who died of thirst on the Llano Estacado. I forget why, but I think he was riding to some place or other. I know it was extremely dramatic, but it is many years since I last did it, and I have forgotten it.’

Everyone breathed again. Paula said that she didn’t go in for recitations, but that if Uncle Nat had not elected to play Bridge, she would have asked Willoughby to read his play to them.

‘That would have been very enjoyable, I expect,’ said Maud placidly.

It was not Nathaniel’s custom to keep late hours, nor was he the kind of host who altered his habits to suit the convenience of his guests. At eleven o’clock, the Bridge-players came back into the drawing-room, where a tray of drinks was awaiting them, and Nathaniel said that for his part he was going to bed.

Edgar Mottisfont ventured to say: ‘I had hoped to have a chat with you, Nat.’

Nathaniel darted a look at him from under his bushy brows. ‘Can’t talk business at this hour of night,’ he said.

‘Well, I want a word with you, too,’ said Paula.

‘You won’t get it,’ Nathaniel replied, with a short laugh.

Maud was gathering up her cards. ‘Dear me, eleven already? I think I shall go up too.’

Valerie looked rather appalled at this prospect of having to retire at such an unaccustomed hour, but was relieved to hear Joseph say cheerfully: ‘Well, I hope no one else means to run off yet! The night’s young, eh, Valerie? What do you say to going into the billiard-room, and turning on the wireless?’

‘You’d be a great deal better in bed,’ said Nathaniel, on whom Joseph’s high spirits seemed to exercise a baleful influence.

‘Not I!’ Joseph declared. ‘I’ll tell you what, Nat: you’d be much better enjoying yourself with us!’

His evil genius prompted him to clap his brother on the back as he said this. It was plain to everyone that the playful blow fell between Nat’s shoulders, but Nathaniel, who hated to be touched, at once groaned, and ejaculated: ‘My lumbago!’

He left the room with the gait of a cripple, holding his hand to the small of his back, in a gesture which his relatives knew well, but which made Valerie open her lovely eyes very wide, and say: ‘I’d no idea lumbago was as bad as that!’

‘It isn’t. That’s just my dear Uncle Nat playing up,’ said Stephen, handing a whisky-and-soda to Mathilda.