“He’s a luxury,” Lidia admitted.

“Pleasure-loving,” said Miss Bass, as if this were something unnatural.

“Yes,” Lidia agreed.

“And always trying to be clever.”

“That’s right,” said Lidia.

“I’d prefer a more serious attitude,” said Miss Bass. And it was true; she actually would.

Lidia held her spoon poised for a moment and said seriously, “Millicent, please don’t go on about Algie. I don’t like it.”

Millicent’s only idea of dignity was standing on it, and she did this for some minutes. Soon, however, she forgot what had been said and inquired about the terms of Algie’s retirement.

“I really don’t know anything about it.” Lidia dropped her crumpled napkin on her plate.

“He has a choice, I believe—a reduced pension or a lump sum. That’s the arrangement for enforced resignation.”

“I don’t know,” said Lidia. “Shall we go?”

When they left the cafeteria, they walked along together to the elevators.

“Now I hope you won’t think me hard,” Miss Bass was beginning, when the elevator arrived—fortunately, perhaps, for her aspiration.

Algie was sitting at his desk when Lidia entered the office. They smiled at each other, and when she was seated at her desk, Lidia asked, “Did you have a nice time with Jaspersen?”

“Splendid,” grunted Algie, going on with his work. He added, for once without looking up, “Wanted me to appeal my case. Shan’t do it, though.”

“Perhaps you ought to think about it?”

Algie shook his head, still writing. A little later he murmured aloud, “Never more, Miranda. Never more.”

“Algie,” Lidia said, putting down her pencil. “What do you think you’ll do, then? Take a reduced pension?”

Now Algie did look up, but kept his pencil in his hand. “No. No. Take my lump sum and look for a small house somewhere along the Mediterranean. In the south of Spain, perhaps. Málaga, or Torremolinos. Good climate, some things still fairly cheap.”

“Do you know anyone there?”

“Someone sure to turn up.” He went on with his work for a moment. “Only thing is—it’s very dangerous to die in Spain.”

“How do you mean?”

“Law insists you be buried within twenty-four hours. Doctors not allowed to open your veins. If you should happen still to be alive, you wake up and find yourself in your coffin. When my time comes, I’m going down to Gibraltar and die in safety. Very dangerous to die in Spain.”

“But what if one’s really dead?”

Algie looked solemn. “That’s a risk you have to take.”