‘I’m so sorry not to give you longer warning,’ said Mr Falls, grunting slightly as he came up the steps. ‘But this wretched incubus of a disease came upon me quite suddenly yesterday evening. I happened to see your advertisement in the paper and the doctor I consulted agreed that I should try thermal treatment.’

‘But we have no advertisement in the papers,’ said Mrs Claire.

‘I assure you I saw one. Unless, by any frightful chance, I’m come to the wrong Wai-ata-tapu Hot Springs. Your name is Questing, I hope?’

Mrs Claire turned pink and replied gently: ‘My name is Claire, but you have made no other mistake. May I help you to your room?’

He apologized and thanked her, but added that he could still totter under his own steam. He seemed to be delighted with the dubious amenities of Barbara’s room. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said in a friendly manner, ‘how deeply I have grown to detest suites. I have been living in hotels for six months and have become so moulded to the en suite tradition that I assure you I have quite a struggle before I can bring myelf to wear a spotted tie with striped suit. It makes everything very difficult. Now this—’ he looked at Barbara’s pieces of furniture, which, under the brief influence of a domestic magazine, she had painted severally in the primary colours—‘this will restore me to normal in no time.’

The taxi driver brought his luggage, which was of two sorts. Three extremely new suitcases consorted with a solitary small one which was much worn and covered with labels. Mrs Claire had never seen so many labels. In addition to partially removed records of English and continental hotels, New Zealand place names jostled each other over the lid. He followed her glance and said: ‘You are thinking that I am “Monsieur Traveller, one who would disable all the benefits of his own country”, and so forth. The fact is the evil brute got lost and has followed some other Falls all over the country. Would you care for the evening paper? The news, alas, is as usual.’

She thanked him confusedly, and retired with the paper to the verandah where she found her brother in angry consultation with Barbara. Dikon stood diffidently in the background.

‘Well, old boy,’ said Mrs Claire, and kissed him warmly. ‘Lovely to have you with us again.’

‘No need to cry over me. I haven’t been to the South Pole,’ said Dr Ackrington, but he returned her kiss, and in the next second attacked his niece. ‘Will you stop making faces at me? Am I in the habit of lying? Why should I bestow raiment upon you, you silly girl?’

‘But truly, Uncle James? Word of honour?’