‘Ssh!’

Arch Mackenzie was frowning. He had sat forward in the period chair.

‘This is where it comes in.’

His face was tragic in the shaded light.

‘Get it?’ he whispered.

His hand was helping. Or commanding.

‘Quite remarkable,’ Eileen repeated.

Jum was shocked to realize he had only two days left in which to take up the I C I rights for old Thingummy.

Nora sat looking at her empty cup. But lovingly.

Nora could have been beautiful, Eileen saw. And suddenly felt old, she who had stripped once or twice at amusing parties. Nora Mackenzie did not know about that.

Somewhere in the depths of the bush Nora was calling that it had just turned four o’clock, but she had forgotten to pack the thermos.

The machine snuffled.

Arch Mackenzie was listening. He was biting his moustache.

‘There’s another passage soon.’ He frowned.

‘Darling,’ Nora whispered, ‘after the lyre-bird you might slip into the kitchen and change the bulb. It went while I was making the coffee.’

Arch Mackenzie’s frown deepened. Even Nora was letting him down.

But she did not see. She was so in love.

It might have been funny if it was not also pathetic. People were horribly pathetic, Eileen Wheeler decided, who had her intellectual moments. She was also feeling sick. It was Nora’s crêpes Suzette, lying like blankets.

‘You’ll realize there are one or two rough passages,’ Arch said, coming forward when the tape had ended. ‘I might cut it.’

‘It could do with a little trimming,’ Eileen agreed. ‘But perhaps it’s more natural without.’

Am I a what’s-this, a masochist, she asked.

‘Don’t forget the kitchen bulb,’ Nora prompted.

Very gently. Very dreamy.

Her hair had strayed, in full dowdiness, down along her white cheek.

‘I’ll give you the bell-birds for while I’m gone.’

Jum’s throat had begun to rattle. He sat up in time, though, and saved his cup in the same movement.

‘I remember the bell-birds,’ he said.

‘Not these ones, you don’t. These are new. These are the very latest. The best bell-birds.’

Arch had started the tape, and stalked out of the room, as if to let the bell-birds themselves prove his point.

‘It is one of our loveliest recordings,’ Nora promised.

They all listened or appeared to.

When Nora said:

‘Oh, dear’ – getting up – ‘I do believe’ – panting almost – ‘the bell-bird tape’ – trembling – ‘is damaged.’

Certainly the crackle was more intense.

‘Arch will be so terribly upset.’

She had switched off the horrifying machine. With surprising skill for one so helpless. For a moment it seemed to Eileen Wheeler that Nora Mackenzie was going to hide the offending tape somewhere in her bosom. But she thought better of it, and put it aside on one of those little superfluous tables.

‘Perhaps it’s the machine that’s broken,’ suggested Jum.

‘Oh, no,’ said Nora, ‘it’s the tape. I know. We’ll have to give you something else.’

‘I can’t understand,’ – Eileen grinned – ‘how you ever got around, Nora, to being mechanical.’