The Man Upstairs and Other Stories

by P. G. Wodehouse

  THE GOOD ANGEL

  Any man under thirty years of age who tells you he is not afraid of anEnglish butler lies. He may not show his fear. Outwardly he may bebrave--aggressive even, perhaps to the extent of calling the great man'Here!' or 'Hi!' But, in his heart, when he meets that, cold, blue,introspective eye, he quakes.

  The effect that Keggs, the butler at the Keiths', had on MartinRossiter was to make him feel as if he had been caught laughing in acathedral. He fought against the feeling. He asked himself who Keggswas, anyway; and replied defiantly that Keggs was a Menial--and anoverfed Menial. But all the while he knew that logic was useless.

  When the Keiths had invited him to their country home he had beendelighted. They were among his oldest friends. He liked Mr Keith. Heliked Mrs Keith. He loved Elsa Keith, and had done so from boyhood.

  But things had gone wrong. As he leaned out of his bedroom window atthe end of the first week, preparatory to dressing for dinner, he wasmore than half inclined to make some excuse and get right out of theplace next day. The bland dignity of Keggs had taken all the heart outof him.

  Nor was it Keggs alone who had driven his thoughts towards flight.Keggs was merely a passive evil, like toothache or a rainy day. Whathad begun actively to make the place impossible was a perfectlypestilential young man of the name of Barstowe.

  The house-party at the Keiths had originally been, from Martin'sview-point, almost ideal. The rest of the men were of the speechless,moustache-tugging breed. They had come to shoot, and they shot. Whenthey were not shooting they congregated in the billiard-room anddevoted their powerful intellects exclusively to snooker-pool, leavingMartin free to talk undisturbed to Elsa. He had been doing this forfive days with great contentment when Aubrey Barstowe arrived. MrsKeith had developed of late leanings towards culture. In her town housea charge of small-shot, fired in any direction on a Thursdayafternoon, could not have failed to bring down a poet, a novelist, or apainter. Aubrey Barstowe, author of _The Soul's Eclipse_ and otherpoems, was a constant member of the crowd. A youth of insinuatingmanners, he had appealed to Mrs Keith from the start; and unfortunatelythe virus had extended to Elsa. Many a pleasant, sunshiny Thursdayafternoon had been poisoned for Martin by the sight of Aubrey and Elsatogether on a distant settee, matching temperaments. The rest is toopainful. It was a rout. The poet did not shoot, so that when Martinreturned of an evening his rival was about five hours of soul-to-soultalk up and only two to play. And those two, the after-dinner hours,which had once been the hours for which Martin had lived, were puretorture.

  So engrossed was he with his thoughts that the first intimation he hadthat he was not alone in the room was a genteel cough. Behind him,holding a small can, was Keggs.

  'Your 'ot water, sir,' said the butler, austerely but not unkindly.

  Keggs was a man--one must use that word, though it seems grosslyinadequate--of medium height, pigeon-toed at the base, bulgy half-wayup, and bald at the apex. His manner was restrained and dignified, hisvoice soft and grave.

  But it was his eye that quelled Martin. That cold, blue,dukes-have-treated-me-as-an-elder-brother eye.

  He fixed it upon him now, as he added, placing the can on the floor.'It is Frederick's duty, but tonight I hundertook it.'

  Martin had no answer. He was dazed. Keggs had spoken with the proudhumility of an emperor compelled by misfortune to shine shoes.

  'Might I have a word with you, sir?'

  'Ye-e-ss, yes,' stammered Martin. 'Won't you take a--I mean, yes,certainly.'

  'It is perhaps a liberty,' began Keggs. He paused, and raked Martinwith the eye that had rested on dining dukes.

  'Not at all,' said Martin, hurriedly.

  'I should like,' went on Keggs, bowing, 'to speak to you on a somewhatintimate subject--Miss Elsa.'

  Martin's eyes and mouth opened slowly.

  'You are going the wrong way to work, if you will allow me to say so,sir.'

  Martin's jaw dropped another inch.

  'Wha-a--'

  'Women, sir,' proceeded Keggs, 'young ladies--are peculiar. I have had,if I may say so, certain hopportunities of observing their ways. MissElsa reminds me in some respects of Lady Angelica Fendall, whom I hadthe honour of knowing when I was butler to her father, Lord Stockleigh.Her ladyship was hinclined to be romantic. She was fond of poetry, likeMiss Elsa. She would sit by the hour, sir, listening to young Mr Knoxreading Tennyson, which was no part of his duties, he being employed byhis lordship to teach Lord Bertie Latin and Greek and what not. You mayhave noticed, sir, that young ladies is often took by Tennyson,hespecially in the summertime. Mr Barstowe was reading Tennyson to MissElsa in the 'all when I passed through just now. _The Princess_,if I am not mistaken.'

  'I don't know what the thing was,' groaned Martin. 'She seemed to beenjoying it.'

  'Lady Angelica was greatly addicted to _The Princess_. Young MrKnox was reading portions of that poem to her when his lordship comeupon them. Most rashly his lordship made a public hexpose and packed MrKnox off next day. It was not my place to volunteer advice, but I couldhave told him what would happen. Two days later her ladyship slips awayto London early in the morning, and they're married at aregistry-office. That is why I say that you are going the wrong way towork with Miss Elsa, sir. With certain types of 'igh spirited young ladyhopposition is useless. Now, when Mr Barstowe was reading to Miss Elsaon the occasion to which I 'ave alluded, you were sitting by, trying toengage her attention. It's not the way, sir. You should leave themalone together. Let her see so much of him, and nobody else but him,that she will grow tired of him. Fondness for poetry, sir, is very muchlike the whisky 'abit. You can't cure a man what has got that byhopposition. Now, if you will permit me to offer a word of advice, sir,I say, let Miss Elsa 'ave all the poetry she wants.'

  Martin was conscious of one coherent feeling at the conclusion of thisaddress, and that was one of amazed gratitude. A lesser man who hadentered his room and begun to discuss his private affairs would havehad reason to retire with some speed; but that Keggs should descendfrom his pedestal and interest himself in such lowly matters was adifferent thing altogether.

  'I'm very much obliged--' he was stammering, when the butler raised adeprecatory hand.

  'My interest in the matter,' he said, smoothly, 'is not entirelyhaltruistic. For some years back, in fact, since Miss Elsa came out, wehave had a matrimonial sweepstake in the servants' hall at eachhouse-party. The names of the gentlemen in the party are placed in a hatand drawn in due course. Should Miss Elsa become engaged to any memberof the party, the pool goes to the drawer of his name. Should noengagement occur, the money remains in my charge until the followingyear, when it is added to the new pool. Hitherto I have 'ad themisfortune to draw nothing but married gentlemen, but on this occasionI have secured you, sir. And I may tell you, sir,' he added, withstately courtesy, 'that, in the opinion of the servants' hall, yourchances are 'ighly fancied,--very 'ighly. The pool has now reachedconsiderable proportions, and, 'aving had certain losses on the Turfvery recent, I am extremely anxious to win it. So I thought, if I mighttake the liberty, sir, I would place my knowledge of the sex at yourdisposal. You will find it sound in every respect. That is all. Thankyou, sir.'

  Martin's feelings had undergone a complete revulsion. In the last fewminutes the butler had shed his wings and grown horns, cloven feet, anda forked tail. His rage deprived him of words. He could only gurgle.

  'Don't thank me, sir,' said the butler, indulgently. 'I ask no thanks.We are working together for a common hobject, and any little 'elp I canprovide is given freely.'

  'You old scoundrel!' shouted Martin, his wrath prevailing even againstthat blue eye. 'You have the insolence to come to me and--'

  He stopped. The thought of these hounds, these demons, coolly gossipingand speculating below stairs about Elsa, making her the subject oflittle sporting flutters to relieve the monotony of country life,choked him.

  'I shall tell Mr Keith,' he said.

  The butler shook his bald head gravely.<
br />
  'I shouldn't, sir. It is a 'ighly fantastic story, and I don't think hewould believe it.'

  'Then I'll--Oh, get out!'

  Keggs bowed deferentially.

  'If you wish it, sir,' he said, 'I will withdraw. If I may make thesuggestion, sir, I think you should commence to dress. Dinner will beserved in a few minutes. Thank you, sir.'

  He passed softly out of the room.

  * * * * *

  It was more as a demonstration of defiance against Keggs than becausehe really hoped that anything would come of it that Martin approachedElsa next morning after breakfast. Elsa was strolling on the terrace infront of the house with the bard, but Martin broke in on the conferencewith the dogged determination of a steam-drill.

  'Coming out with the guns today, Elsa?' he said.

  She raised her eyes. There was an absent look in them.

  'The guns?' she said. 'Oh, no; I hate watching men shoot.'

  'You used to like it.'

  'I used to like dolls,' she said, impatiently.

  Mr Barstowe gave tongue. He was a slim, tall, sickeningly beautifulyoung man, with large, dark eyes, full of expression.

  'We develop,' he said. 'The years go by, and we develop. Our soulsexpand--timidly at first, like little, half-fledged birds stealing outfrom the--'

  'I don't know that I'm so set on shooting today, myself,' said Martin.'Will you come round the links?'

  'I am going out in the motor with Mr Barstowe,' said Elsa.

  'The motor!' cried Mr Barstowe. 'Ah, Rossiter, that is the very poetryof motion. I never ride in a motor-car without those words ofShakespeare's ringing in my mind: "I'll put a girdle round about theearth in forty minutes."'

  'I shouldn't give way to that sort of thing if I were you,' saidMartin. 'The police are pretty down on road-hogging in these parts.'

  'Mr Barstowe was speaking figuratively,' said Elsa, with disdain.

  'Was he?' grunted Martin, whose sorrows were tending to make him everyday more like a sulky schoolboy. 'I'm afraid I haven't got a poeticsoul.'

  'I'm afraid you haven't,' said Elsa.

  There was a brief silence. A bird made itself heard in a neighbouringtree.

  '"The moan of doves in immemorial elms,"' quoted Mr Barstowe, softly.

  'Only it happens to be a crow in a beech,' said Martin, as the birdflew out.

  Elsa's chin tilted itself in scorn. Martin turned on his heel andwalked away.

  'It's the wrong way, sir; it's the wrong way,' said a voice. 'I washobserving you from a window, sir. It's Lady Angelica over again.Hopposition is useless, believe me, sir.'

  Martin faced round, flushed and wrathful. The butler went on unmoved:'Miss Elsa is going for a ride in the car today, sir.'

  'I know that.'

  'Uncommonly tricky things, these motor-cars. I was saying so toRoberts, the chauffeur, just as soon as I 'eard Miss Elsa was going outwith Mr Barstowe. I said, "Roberts, these cars is tricky; break downwhen you're twenty miles from hanywhere as soon as look at you.Roberts," I said, slipping him a sovereign, "'ow awful it would be ifthe car should break down twenty miles from hanywhere today!"'

  Martin stared.

  'You bribed Roberts to--'

  'Sir! I gave Roberts the sovereign because I am sorry for him. He is apoor man, and has a wife and family to support.'

  'Very well,' said Martin, sternly; 'I shall go and warn Miss Keith.'

  'Warn her, sir!'

  'I shall tell her that you have bribed Roberts to make the car breakdown so that--'

  Keggs shook his head.

  'I fear she would hardly credit the statement, sir. She might eventhink that you was trying to keep her from going for your own pussonalends.'

  'I believe you are the devil,' said Martin.

  'I 'ope you will come to look on me, sir,' said Keggs, unctuously, 'asyour good hangel.'

  Martin shot abominably that day, and, coming home in the evening gloomyand savage, went straight to his room, and did not reappear tilldinner-time. Elsa had been taken in by one of the moustache-tuggers.Martin found himself seated on her other side. It was so pleasant to benear her, and to feel that the bard was away at the other end of thetable, that for the moment his spirits revived.

  'Well, how did you like the ride?' he asked, with a smile. 'Did you putthat girdle round the world?'

  She looked at him--once. The next moment he had an uninterrupted viewof her shoulder, and heard the sound of her voice as she prattled gailyto the man on her other side.

  His heart gave a sudden bound. He understood now. The demon butler hadhad his wicked way. Good heavens! She had thought he was taunting her!He must explain at once. He--

  'Hock or sherry, sir?'

  He looked up into Kegg's expressionless eyes. The butler was wearinghis on-duty mask. There was no sign of triumph in his face.

  'Oh, sherry. I mean hock. No, sherry. Neither.'

  This was awful. He must put this right.

  'Elsa,' he said.

  She was engrossed in her conversation with her neighbour.

  From down the table in a sudden lull in the talk came the voice of MrBarstowe. He seemed to be in the middle of a narrative.

  'Fortunately,' he was saying, 'I had with me a volume of Shelley, andone of my own little efforts. I had read Miss Keith the whole of thelatter and much of the former before the chauffeur announced that itwas once more possible--'

  'Elsa,' said the wretched man, 'I had no idea--you don't think--'

  She turned to him.

  'I beg your pardon?' she said, very sweetly.

  'I swear I didn't know--I mean, I'd forgotten--I mean--'

  She wrinkled her forehead.

  'I'm really afraid I don't understand.'

  'I mean, about the car breaking down.'

  'The car? Oh, yes. Yes, it broke down. We were delayed quite a littlewhile. Mr Barstowe read me some of his poems. It was perfectly lovely.I was quite sorry when Roberts told us we could go on again. But do youreally mean to tell me, Mr Lambert, that you--'

  And once more the world became all shoulder.

  When the men trailed into the presence of the ladies for that briefseance on which etiquette insisted before permitting the stampede tothe billiard-room, Elsa was not to be seen.

  'Elsa?' said Mrs Keith in answer to Martin's question. 'She has gone tobed. The poor child has a headache. I am afraid she had a tiring day.'

  There was an early start for the guns next morning, and as Elsa did notappear at breakfast Martin had to leave without seeing her. Hisshooting was even worse than it had been on the previous day.

  It was not until late in the evening that the party returned to thehouse. Martin, on the way to his room, met Mrs Keith on the stairs. Sheappeared somewhat agitated.

  'Oh, Martin,' she said. 'I'm so glad you're back. Have you seenanything of Elsa?'

  'Elsa?'

  'Wasn't she with the guns?'

  'With the guns' said Martin, puzzled. 'No.'

  'I have seen nothing of her all day. I'm getting worried. I can't thinkwhat can have happened to her. Are you sure she wasn't with the guns?'

  'Absolutely certain. Didn't she come in to lunch?'

  'No. Tom,' she said, as Mr Keith came up, 'I'm so worried about Elsa. Ihaven't seen her all day. I thought she must be out with the guns.'

  Mr Keith was a man who had built up a large fortune mainly byconsistently refusing to allow anything to agitate him. He carried thispolicy into private life.

  'Wasn't she in at lunch?' he asked, placidly.

  'I tell you I haven't seen her all day. She breakfasted in her room--'

  'Late?'

  'Yes. She was tired, poor girl.'

  'If she breakfasted late,' said Mr Keith, 'she wouldn't need any lunch.She's gone for a stroll somewhere.'

  'Would you put back dinner, do you think?' inquired Mrs Keith,anxiously.

  'I am not good at riddles,' said Mr Keith, comfortably, 'but I cananswer that one. I would not put
back dinner. I would not put backdinner for the King.'

  Elsa did not come back for dinner. Nor was hers the only vacant place.Mr Barstowe had also vanished. Even Mr Keith's calm was momentarilyruffled by this discovery. The poet was not a favourite of his--it wasonly reluctantly that he had consented to his being invited at all; andthe presumption being that when two members of a house-party disappearsimultaneously they are likely to be spending the time in each other'ssociety, he was annoyed. Elsa was not the girl to make a fool ofherself, of course, but--He was unwontedly silent at dinner.

  Mrs Keith's anxiety displayed itself differently. She was franklyworried, and mentioned it. By the time the fish had been reachedconversation at the table had fixed itself definitely on the onetopic.

  'It isn't the car this time, at any rate,' said Mr Keith. 'It hasn'tbeen out today.'

  'I can't understand it,' said Mrs Keith for the twentieth time. Andthat was the farthest point reached in the investigation of themystery.

  By the time dinner was over a spirit of unrest was abroad. The companysat about in uneasy groups. Snooker-pool was, if not forgotten, at anyrate shelved. Somebody suggested search-parties, and one or two of themoustache-tuggers wandered rather aimlessly out into the darkness.

  Martin was standing in the porch with Mr Keith when Keggs approached.As his eyes lit on him, Martin was conscious of a sudden solidifying ofthe vague suspicion which had been forming in his mind. And yet thatsuspicion seemed so wild. How could Keggs, with the worst intentions,have had anything to do with this? He could not forcibly have abductedthe missing pair and kept them under lock and key. He could not havestunned them and left them in a ditch. Nevertheless, looking at himstanding there in his attitude of deferential dignity, with the lightfrom the open door shining on his bald head, Martin felt perfectlycertain that he had in some mysterious fashion engineered the wholething.

  'Might I have a word, sir, if you are at leisure?'

  'Well, Keggs?'

  'Miss Elsa, sir.'

  'Yes?'

  Kegg's voice took on a sympathetic softness.

  'It was not my place, sir, to make any remark while in the dining-room,but I could not 'elp but hoverhear the conversation. I gathered fromremarks that was passed that you was somewhat hat a loss to account forMiss Elsa's non-appearance, sir.'

  Mr Keith laughed shortly.

  'You gathered that, eh?'

  Keggs bowed.

  'I think, sir, that possibly I may be hable to throw light on thematter.'

  'What!' cried Mr Keith. 'Great Scott, man! then why didn't you say soat the time? Where is she?'

  'It was not my place, sir, to henter into the conversation of thedinner-table,' said the butler, with a touch of reproof. 'If I mightspeak now, sir?'

  Mr Keith clutched at his forehead.

  'Heavens above! Do you want a signed permit to tell me where mydaughter is? Get on, man, get on!'

  'I think it 'ighly possible, sir, that Miss Elsa and Mr Barstowe may beon the hisland in the lake, sir.' About half a mile from the house wasa picturesque strip of water, some fifteen hundred yards in width and alittle less in length, in the centre of which stood a small and denselywooded island. It was a favourite haunt of visitors at the house whenthere was nothing else to engage their attention, but during the pastweek, with shooting to fill up the days, it had been neglected.

  'On the island?' said Mr Keith. 'What put that idea into your head?'

  'I 'appened to be rowing on the lake this morning, sir. I frequentlyrow of a morning, sir, when there are no duties to detain me in the'ouse. I find the hexercise hadmirable for the 'ealth. I walk brisklyto the boat-'ouse, and--'

  'Yes, yes. I don't want a schedule of your daily exercises. Cut out theathletic reminiscences and come to the point.'

  'As I was rowing on the lake this morning, sir, I 'appened to see aboat 'itched up to a tree on the hisland. I think that possibly MissElsa and Mr Barstowe might 'ave taken a row out there. Mr Barstowewould wish to see the hisland, sir, bein' romantic.'

  'But you say you saw the boat there this morning?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Well, it doesn't take all day to explore a small island. What's keptthem all this while?'

  'It is possible, sir, that the rope might not have 'eld. Mr Barstowe,if I might say so, sir, is one of those himpetuous literary pussons,and possibly he homitted to see that the knot was hadequately tied.Or'--his eye, grave and inscrutable, rested for a moment onMartin's--'some party might 'ave come along and huntied it a-puppus.'

  'Untied it on purpose?' said Mr Keith. 'What on earth for?'

  Keggs shook his head deprecatingly, as one who, realizing hislimitations, declines to attempt to probe the hidden sources of humanactions.

  'I thought it right, sir, to let you know,' he said.

  'Right? I should say so. If Elsa has been kept starving all day on thatisland by that long-haired--Here, come along, Martin.'

  He dashed off excitedly into the night. Martin remained for a momentgazing fixedly at the butler.

  'I 'ope, sir,' said Keggs, cordially, 'that my hinformation will proveof genuine hassistance.'

  'Do you know what I should like to do to you?' said Martin slowly.

  'I think I 'ear Mr Keith calling you, sir.'

  'I should like to take you by the scruff of your neck and--'

  'There, sir! Didn't you 'ear 'im then? Quite distinct it was.'

  Martin gave up the struggle with a sense of blank futility. What couldyou do with a man like this? It was like quarrelling with WestminsterAbbey.

  'I should 'urry, sir,' suggested Keggs, respectfully. 'I think Mr Keithmust have met with some haccident.'

  His surmise proved correct. When Martin came up he found his hostseated on the ground in evident pain.

  'Twisted my ankle in a hole,' he explained, briefly. 'Give me an armback to the house, there's a good fellow, and then run on down to thelake and see if what Keggs said is true.'

  Martin did as he was requested--so far, that is to say, as the firsthalf of the commission was concerned. As regarded the second, he tookit upon himself to make certain changes. Having seen Mr Keith to hisroom, he put the fitting-out of the relief ship into the good hands ofa group of his fellow guests whom he discovered in the porch. Elsa'sfeelings towards her rescuer might be one of unmixed gratitude; but itmight, on the other hand, be one of resentment. He did not wish her toconnect him in her mind with the episode in any way whatsoever. Martinhad once released a dog from a trap, and the dog had bitten him. He hadbeen on an errand of mercy, but the dog had connected him with hissufferings and acted accordingly. It occurred to Martin that Elsa'sframe of mind would be uncommonly like that dog's.

  The rescue-party set off. Martin lit a cigarette, and waited in theporch.

  It seemed a very long time before anything happened, but at last, as hewas lighting his fifth cigarette, there came from the darkness thesound of voices. They drew nearer. Someone shouted:

  'It's all right. We've found them.'

  Martin threw away his cigarette and went indoors.

  * * * * *

  Elsa Keith sat up as her mother came into the room. Two nights and aday had passed since she had taken to her bed.

  'How are you feeling today, dear?'

  'Has he gone, mother?'

  'Who?'

  'Mr Barstowe?'

  'Yes, dear. He left this morning. He said he had business with hispublisher in London.'

  'Then I can get up,' said Elsa, thankfully.

  'I think you're a little hard on poor Mr Barstowe, Elsa. It was just anaccident, you know. It was not his fault that the boat slipped away.'

  'It was, it was, it _was_!' cried Elsa, thumping the pillowmalignantly. 'I believe he did it on purpose, so that he could read mehis horrid poetry without my having a chance to escape. I believethat's the only way he can get people to listen to it.'

  'But you used to like it, darling. You said he had such a musicalvoice.'

 
; 'Musical voice!' The pillow became a shapeless heap. 'Mother, it waslike a nightmare! If I had seen him again I should have had hysterics.It was _awful_! If he had been even the least bit upset himself Ithink I could have borne up. But he _enjoyed_ it! He _revelled_in it! He said it was like Omar Khayyam in the Wilderness and Shelley's_Epipsychidion_, whatever that is; and he prattled on and on andread and read till my head began to split. Mother'--her voice sank toa whisper--'I hit him!'

  'Elsa!'

  'I did!' she went on, defiantly. 'I hit him as hard as I could, andhe--he'--she broke off into a little gurgle of laughter--'he trippedover a bush and fell right down; and I wasn't a bit ashamed. I didn'tthink it unladylike or anything. I was just as proud as I could be. Andit stopped him talking.'

  'But, Elsa, _dear_! Why?'

  'The sun had just gone down; and it was a lovely sunset, and the skylooked like a great, beautiful slice of underdone beef; and I said soto him, and he said, sniffily, that he was afraid he didn't see theresemblance. And I asked him if he wasn't starving. And he said no,because as a rule all that he needed was a little ripe fruit. And thatwas when I hit him.'

  'Elsa!'

  'Oh, I know it was awfully wrong, but I just had to. And now I'll getup. It looks lovely out.'

  Martin had not gone out with the guns that day. Mrs Keith had assuredhim that there was nothing wrong with Elsa, that she was only tired,but he was anxious, and had remained at home, where bulletins couldreach him. As he was returning from a stroll in the grounds he heardhis name called, and saw Elsa lying in the hammock under the trees nearthe terrace.

  'Why, Martin, why aren't you out with the guns?' she said.

  'I wanted to be on the spot so that I could hear how you were.'

  'How nice of you! Why don't you sit down?'

  'May I?'

  Elsa fluttered the pages of her magazine.

  'You know, you're a very restful person, Martin. You're so big andoutdoory. How would you like to read to me for a while? I feel solazy.'

  Martin took the magazine.

  'What shall I read? Here's a poem by--'

  Elsa shuddered.

  'Oh, please, no,' she cried. 'I couldn't bear it. I'll tell you what Ishould love--the advertisements. There's one about sardines. I startedit, and it seemed splendid. It's at the back somewhere.'

  'Is this it--Langley and Fielding's sardines?'

  'That's it.'

  Martin began to read.

  '"Langley and Fielding's sardines. When you want the daintiest, mostdelicious sardines, go to your grocer and say, 'Langley and Fielding's,please!' You will then be sure of having the finest Norwegian smokedsardines, packed in the purest olive oil."'

  Elsa was sitting with her eyes closed and a soft smile of pleasurecurving her mouth.

  'Go on,' she said, dreamily.

  '"Nothing nicer."' resumed Martin, with an added touch of eloquence asthe theme began to develop, '"for breakfast, lunch, or supper. Probablyyour grocer stocks them. Ask him. If he does not, write to us. Pricefivepence per tin. The best sardines and the best oil!"'

  'Isn't it _lovely_?' she murmured.

  Her hand, as it swung, touched his. He held it. She opened her eyes.

  'Don't stop reading,' she said. 'I never heard anything so soothing.'

  'Elsa!'

  He bent towards her. She smiled at him. Her eyes were dancing.

  'Elsa, I--'

  'Mr Keith,' said a quiet voice, 'desired me to say--'

  Martin started away. He glared up furiously. Gazing down upon themstood Keggs. The butler's face was shining with a gentle benevolence.

  'Mr Keith desired me to say that he would be glad if Miss Elsa wouldcome and sit with him for a while.'

  'I'll come at once,' said Elsa, stepping from the hammock.

  The butler bowed respectfully and turned away. They stood watching himas he moved across the terrace.

  'What a saintly old man Keggs looks,' said Elsa. 'Don't you think so?He looks as if he had never even thought of doing anything heshouldn't. I wonder if he ever has?'

  'I wonder!' said Martin.

  'He looks like a stout angel. What were you saying, Martin, when hecame up?'