“Is she a German?”

“Whatever she is, she’s a dirty fighter. I’ve heard on excellent authority she’s started a rumour that my Magnolia Food Base grows beards. But never mind about that. I can look after myself.”

“Darling Hersey! If only you had allowed me to perform that delightful office!”

“It’s the cruel trick you’ve played on Sandra that horrifies me. You’ve always been the same, Jo. You’ve a passion for intrigue wedded to an unholy curiosity. You lay your plans and when they work out and people are hurt or angry, nobody is more sorry or surprised than you. It’s a sort of blind patch in your character.”

“Was that why you refused me, Hersey, all those years ago?”

Hersey caught her breath and for a moment was silent.

“Not that I agree with you, you know,” said Jonathan. “One of my objectives is a lavish burial of hatchets. I hope great things of this week-end.”

“Do you expect the Compline brothers to become reconciled because you have given Nicholas an opportunity to do his barn-yard strut before Chloris Wynne? Do you suppose Hart, who is obviously in love with the Pirate, will welcome the same performance with her, or that the Pirate and I will wander up and down your house with our arms round each other’s waists, or that Sandra Compline will invite Hart to have another cut at her face? You’re not a fool, Jo.”

“I had hoped for your co-operation,” said Jonathan wistfully.

“Mine!”

“Well, darling, to a certain extent I’ve had it. You made a marvellous recovery from your own encounter with Madame Lisse, and you tell me you’ve persuaded Sandra to stay.”

“Only because I felt it was better for her to face it.”

“Don’t you think it may be better for all of us to face our secret bogey-man? Hersey, I’ve collected a group of people each one of whom is in a great or small degree hag-ridden by a fear. Even Aubrey Mandrake has his little bogey-man.”

“The poetic dramatist? What have you nosed out from his past?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“No,” said Hersey, turning pink.

“You are sitting beside him at dinner. Say in these exact words that you understand he has given up footling, and see what sort of response you get.”

“Why should I use this loathsome phrase to Mr. Mandrake?”

“Why, simply because, although you won’t admit it, darling, you have your share of the family failing — curiosity.”

“I don’t admit it. And I won’t do it.”

Jonathan chuckled. “It is an amusing notion. I shall make the same suggestion to Nicholas. I believe it would appeal to him. To return to our cast of characters: Each of them— Sandra Compline to an extreme degree — has pushed his or her fear into a cupboard. Chloris is afraid of her old attraction to Nicholas, William is afraid of Nicholas’ fascination for Chloris and for his mother, Hart is afraid of Nicholas’ fascination for Madame Lisse, Sandra is afraid of a terrible incident in her past, Madame Lisse, though I must say she does not reveal her fear, is perhaps a little afraid of both Hart and Nicholas. You, my dearest, fear the future. If Nicholas has a fear it is that he may lose prestige, and that is a terrible fear.”

“And you, Jo?”

“I am the compère. Part of my business is to unlock the cupboards and show the fears to be less terrible in the light of day.”

“And you have no bogey-man of your own?”

“Oh, yes, I have,” said Jonathan, and the light gleamed on his spectacles. “His name is Boredom.”

“And therein am I answered,” said Hersey.

While he was dressing, Mandrake had wondered how Jonathan would place his party at dinner. He actually tried to work out, on several sheets of Highfold notepaper, a plan that would keep apart the most bitterly antagonistic of the guests. He found the task beyond him. The warring elements could be separated, but any such arrangement seemed only to emphasize friendships that were in themselves infuriating to one or another of the guests. It did not enter his head that Jonathan, with reckless bravado, would choose the most aggravating and provocative arrangement possible. But this was what he did. The long dining-table had been replaced by a round one. Madame Lisse sat between Jonathan and Nicholas, Chloris between Nicholas and William. Sandra Compline was on Jonathan’s right and had Dr. Hart for her other partner. Hersey Amblington was next to Dr. Hart and Mandrake himself, the odd man, sat between Hersey and William. From the moment when they found their places it was obvious to Mandrake that the success of the dinner-party was most endangered by Mrs. Compline and Doctor Hart. These two had been the last to arrive, Mrs. Compline appearing after Caper had announced dinner. Both were extremely pale and, when they found their place-cards, seemed to flinch all over: “Like agitated horses,” thought Mandrake. When they were all seated, Dr. Hart darted a strange glance across the table at Madame Lisse. She looked steadily at him for a moment. Jonathan was talking to Mrs. Compline; Dr. Hart, with an obvious effort, turned to Hersey Amblington. Nicholas, who had the air of a professional diner-out, embarked upon a series of phrases directed equally, Mandrake thought, at Madame Lisse and Chloris Wynne. They were empty little phrases, but Nicholas delivered them with many inclinations of his head, this way and that, with archly masculine glances, punctual shouts of laughter and frequent movements of his hand to his blond moustache. “In the nineties,” Mandrake thought, “Nicholas would have been known, as a ‘masher.’ There is no modern word to describe his gallantries.” They were successful gallantries, however, for both Chloris and Madame Lisse began to look alert and sleek. William preserved a mulish silence and Dr. Hart, while he spoke to Hersey, glanced from time to time at Madame Lisse.

Evidently Jonathan had chosen a round table with the object of keeping the conversation general and in this project he was successful. However angry Hersey may have been with her cousin, she must have decided to pull her weight in the role of hostess for which he had obviously cast her. Mandrake, Madame Lisse, and Nicholas all did their share, and presently there appeared a kind of gaiety at the table. “It’s merely going to turn into a party that is precariously successful in the teeth of extraordinary obstacles,” Mandrake told himself. “We have made a fuss about nothing.” But this opinion was checked when he saw Dr. Hart stare at Nicholas; when, on turning to William, he found him enraged in what appeared to be some whispered expostulation with Chloris; and when, turning away in discomfort, he saw Mrs. Compline, with shaking hands, hide an infinitesimal helping under her knife and fork. He emptied his glass and gave his attention to Hersey Amblington who seemed to be talking about him to Jonathan.

“Mr. Mandrake sniffs at my suggestion,” Hersey was saying. “Don’t you, Mr. Mandrake?”

“Do I?” Mandrake rejoined uneasily. “What suggestion, Lady Hersey?”

“There! He hasn’t even heard me, Jo. Why, the suggestion I made before dinner, for a surrealist play.”

Before Mandrake could find an answer Nicholas Compline suddenly struck into the conversation.

“You mustn’t be flippant with Mr. Mandrake, Hersey,” he said. “He’s looking very austere. I’m sure he’s long ago given up footling.”

Mandrake experienced the sensation of a violent descent in some abandoned lift. His inside seemed to turn over and the tips of his fingers went cold. “God!” he thought. “They know! In a moment they will speak playfully of Dulwich.” And he sat with his fork held in suspended animation, half-way to his mouth. “This atrocious woman,” he thought, “this atrocious woman! This loathsome grinning young man!” He turned to Hersey and found her staring at him with an expression that he interpreted as knowing. Mandrake shied away and looking wildly round the table, encountered the thick-lensed glasses of his host. Jonathan’s lips were pursed and in the faint creases at the corners of his mouth Mandrake read complacency and amusement. “So that’s it,” thought Mandrake furiously. “He knows and he’s told them. It’s the sort of thing that would delight him. My vulnerable spot. He’s having a tweak at it and he and his cousin and his bloody friend will laugh delicately and tell each other they were very naughty with poor Mr. Stanley Footling.” But Jonathan was speaking to him, gently carrying forward the theme of Hersey’s suggestion for a play.