COMING down the gas-lit mews with three beer bottles under her arm, Mary experienced, as often before, a pang of love for her home. My dear little house, she thought. It was full of people. The front door stood ajar. Lights shone from all the windows. Odours of fish-pie met her as she set foot on the stairs—which were really only a very steep step-ladder covered with linoleum. Mary had once tripped and slid down them on her seat, shooting right out into the mews and the presence of several astonished chauffeurs, clutching a new loaf.

“You’ve left the door open, Earle,” called Margaret’s voice from above; “somebody’s got in.”

They peeped down at her:

“Oh, it’s only you, dearie. We were afraid it was more uninvited guests. There’s enough of us as it is.”

“And to think,” said Mary, “of your poor old Ma running all the way from the Goat in Boots because you’d left your key behind. I thought the music-room window was bolted.”

“So it was, but that didn’t deter our Maurice. He climbed the drain-pipe.”

Maurice, in shirt-sleeves, waiting for Anne to tie his evening tie, grinned.

“Look here, my lad, you know I don’t like my sanitary system to be used for your gymnastic displays.”

They all helped to lay the table, pushing past each other in the narrow doorway, each carrying a single fork or a plate.

“Oh, children,” said Mary, “it’s very kind of you to help Mother, but, you know, I could get the whole job done in two minutes alone.”

“That’s all right. Just you sit down and rest, Granny dear. Somebody get Mary her Bible and her cashmere shawl.”

“I say, we just must subscribe for one. Wouldn’t it be too suitable for the Gallery? She’d be exactly like those dear old pets one sometimes sees in ladies’ cloak-rooms.”

Earle came out of the kitchen:

“Say, if you don’t eat your pie soon, Mary, I guess there’ll be nothing left but the fish-bones.”

“Oh, Earle,” said Margaret, “you mustn’t guess so much, my dear, really. It simply is not done. In this country we confine ourselves to the direct statement.”

“Oratio Recta,” said Maurice.

“Oratio what did you say?”

“Oratio Recta.”

“I don’t think I like that expression at all.”

“Where’s Eric,” Mary asked, “and Georges?”

“Eric rang up to say he might be late,” said Anne. “He’s got to go to a committee meeting. He says he’ll probably take a sandwich and eat it on the bus.”

“And Georges isn’t quite comfortable about something in the Hindemith.”

Sure enough, Mary could hear the sound of a violin coming up from underneath the stairs. There was a stove near the coal-hole door and Georges liked sitting with one leg on either side of it and practising.

“He’s scared stiff,” said Maurice.