I brought Mark and Sybil two large whiskies.

“You know everyone, don’t you?” I asked.

“I don’t know that curly-haired girl over by the window,” Sybil said.

Mark looked over at Norah. His face seemed to brighten for a moment. “Of course you do, dear. We met her at the Browns’. Norah Hauxley.”

“You have a good memory, dear. She’s quite pretty, isn’t she? Your father-in-law seems quite taken by her, Joe.”

Amid the general noise I couldn’t hear what Brown was say­ing; but it was evident that it was amusing Norah. He took her hand and turned it palm upwards; he studied it for a moment, quite unabashed in his enjoyment of holding it. There was a brief lull in the noise around him.

“I’m never wrong,” I heard him say. “Now look at your life line.”

There was a burst of laughter from the corner where Larry Silvington held court; I turned back to Sybil. I still didn’t like my father-in-law; but I was glad in a disinterested kind of way that he should still take pleasure from a mild flirtation with a pretty girl. And wasn’t it, after all, an endorsement of my own good taste? He had picked the best-looking woman in the room. Anne Rogers’ nose was too big. Eva Sykes had grown too plump. Sally Timbal’s legs were too thin. Coral Smith was short-sighted but wouldn’t wear glasses and in consequence always either squinted or frowned. And my mother-in-law and Sybil didn’t count; though it was hardly fair to bracket them together. With all her faults my mother-in-law would never wear a dress in such a violent shade of purple nor one which showed so much of her legs . . .

Mark was shivering.

“You look a bit rough,” I said. “Can I get you anything?”

“Some more whisky, old man.” He rubbed his hands together again. “It’s been damned cold lately,” he said.

I took his empty glass.

“It’s only autumn yet,” I said. “It hasn’t really begun to be cold.”

I refilled his glass.

“Would you like to lie down for a moment, Mark? Use Harry’s room—”

“Use Harry’s room what for?” Susan asked.

“Mark doesn’t feel very well.”

“Poor darling,” Susan said.

She swayed a little as she stood over them; it was obvious that she’d been fortifying herself in anticipation.

“Don’t stand up,” she said, and kissed each of them in turn. The kisses were loud and moist.

“It’s lovely to see you both again,” she said. “We’ve kept missing each other . . .”

“Box and Cox,” Sybil said. “Many happy returns, Susan.” Mark rose.

“Many happy returns from us both, dear. And please accept this little present with all our love.”

It was a blue nylon negligée. “It’s lovely,” Susan said. “Just what I wanted.”