Mr Lee-Mittison began the story, which was about Malay. He raised his voice, drew out his words and was emphatic. One by one the girls returned their eyes to his face reluctantly. The more suggestible among them took their cues from Mrs Lee-Mittison and echoed her small exclamations. Herbert’s wife, with tightly folded hands, was leaning forward eagerly. It could not have been thought possible that she had heard this story before were it not for the glance around with which at the approach of any salient point she would gather up the attention of the circle, and the dissyllabic titter with which she anticipated the humorous passages. Once she gripped a Bransome’s hand convulsively – ‘Isn’t it exciting?’ After about ten minutes of this recital, Victor Ammering appeared on the outskirts of the circle, stepped across the botany-case and sat down. ‘I say,’ he said – ‘(excuse me, sir!) – have any of you got a match?’

‘Then we saw the native crawling out from the darkness of the bushes, most impenetrable darkness, into a patch of moonlight. He had a knife between his teeth. It was a ticklish moment. My friend Murphy whispered, “Don’t fire!” We prepared—’ Hanging breathlessly on his own words, Mr Lee-Mittison looked immensely round at them. Their attention had again been distracted. Only Violet Bransome, now uniquely faithful echoed:

‘You prepared—And then —?’

‘I will wait,’ said Mr Lee-Mittison, staring straight before him, ‘until the young ladies over there have finished talking.’

‘Oh, thanks most awfully,’ Victor was saying, his voice heard bleakly in the silence. Sydney, saying ‘Bounder!’ in a soft aside beneath her breath, handed him across her matches. ‘And, oh, look here,’ Victor added, ‘do go on and all that. It sounds thrilling. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’

‘A story interrupted half-way through can hardly be of interest. Pray don’t let us keep you from your walk.’ Mr Lee-Mittison glared; none of the party felt comfortable.

Victor, who was not really such a bad young man, and who had been simply dominated by the most developed of his instincts, heaved himself off the ground and declared himself ready to depart again. ‘As a matter of fact,’ he said, ‘I simply came to say that if any of you wanted to wash your hands and faces after eating oranges, I’ve found a tank down there among those gardens, quite clean, not a bit slimy and with no frogs.’

‘We have handkerchiefs, Mr Ammering,’ said Mrs Lee-Mittison.

‘Have I got orange on my face or anything?’ asked Veronica, and she turned her face up to Victor suddenly, away from the others, so that they could only guess by his expression what he saw there.

‘You have,’ said he. ‘You’ve got orange right up round your ears. And you’ve got little bits of egg and stuff along your mouth.’

‘We have handkerchiefs,’ repeated Mrs Lee-Mittison.