“I don’t see why anybody should come,” said Phillipa, looking bewildered.

“Don’t you, dear?… I dare say you wouldn’t. But most people are rather more inquisitive than you are.”

“Phillipa’s attitude to life is that she just isn’t interested,” said Julia, rather nastily.

Phillipa did not reply.

Miss Blacklock was glancing round the room. Mitzi had put the sherry and three dishes containing olives, cheese straws and some little fancy pastries on the table in the middle of the room.

“You might move that tray—or the whole table if you like—round the corner into the bay window in the other room, Patrick, if you don’t mind. After all, I am not giving a party! I haven’t asked anyone. And I don’t intend to make it obvious that I expect people to turn up.”

“You wish, Aunt Letty, to disguise your intelligent anticipation?”

“Very nicely put, Patrick. Thank you, my dear boy.”

“Now we can all give a lovely performance of a quiet evening at home,” said Julia, “and be quite surprised when somebody drops in.”

Miss Blacklock had picked up the sherry bottle. She stood holding it uncertainly in her hand.

Patrick reassured her.

“There’s quite half a bottle there. It ought to be enough.”

“Oh, yes—yes …” She hesitated. Then, with a slight flush, she said:

“Patrick, would you mind … there’s a new bottle in the cupboard in the pantry … Bring it and a corkscrew. I—we—might as well have a new bottle. This—this has been opened some time.”

Patrick went on his errand without a word. He returned with the new bottle and drew the cork. He looked up curiously at Miss Blacklock as he placed it on the tray.

“Taking this seriously, aren’t you, darling?” he asked gently.

“Oh,” cried Dora Bunner, shocked. “Surely, Letty, you can’t imagine—”

“Hush,” said Miss Blacklock quickly. “That’s the bell. You see, my intelligent anticipation is being justified.”

II

Mitzi opened the door of the drawing room and admitted Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook. She had her own methods of announcing people.

“Here is Colonel and Mrs. Easterbrook to see you,” she said conversationally.

Colonel Easterbrook was very bluff and breezy to cover some slight embarrassment.

“Hope you don’t mind us dropping in,” he said. (A subdued gurgle came from Julia.) “Happened to be passing this way—eh what? Quite a mild evening. Notice you’ve got your central heating on. We haven’t started ours yet.”

“Aren’t your chrysanthemums lovely?” gushed Mrs. Easterbrook. “Such beauties!”

“They’re rather scraggy, really,” said Julia.

Mrs. Easterbrook greeted Phillipa Haymes with a little extra cordiality to show that she quite understood that Phillipa was not really an agricultural labourer.

“How is Mrs. Lucas’ garden getting on?” she asked. “Do you think it will ever be straight again? Completely neglected all through the war—and then only that dreadful old man Ashe who simply did nothing but sweep up a few leaves and put in a few cabbage plants.”

“It’s yielding to treatment,” said Phillipa. “But it will take a little time.”