Mercifully, a good deal of it was obscured by the boxes, the dresses, the hats, coats, shoes, stockings, and gloves which Marcia was taking to Java. Gay had firmly made a place for herself on the edge of the rose-coloured bed, Marcia, in a pink satin dressing-gown, having already annexed the only armchair. Marcia was like that. It ran in the family, because Sylvia was like it too-only more so. But then Sylvia was a lovely, and everyone had always spoiled her. Marcia wasn’t bad-looking when you saw her away from Sylvia, but nobody would ever look at her if they could look at Sylvia instead, so Marcia hadn’t really got the same excuse.

Gay tossed back her damp black curls and said,

“What on earth is it this time?”

Marcia spoke comfortably from the chair.

“Well, you know what Sylvia is. She never writes-at least only postcards to Mummy, because if she didn’t do that, she’d have Mummy ringing up every other day to know if she was dead.”

“Yes?” said Gay. You couldn’t hurry Marcia, but you could try.

“I don’t think I’ve had a single letter from her since she was married, and that’s just on a year ago. And I’ve only seen her at home, when she rushed down for about half an hour, and of course Mummy was there the whole time. But I lunched with her yesterday-to say goodbye, you know-and she told me she was in this awful jam. She really did look pretty ghastly. I mean she’d got on the wrong stockings for her dress, and her lipstick all crooked, so I think things are pretty grim.”

“What is it?” said Gay, in a resigned tone.

Marcia waved a newly manicured hand.

“Darling, she never told me. We only had about ten minutes after lunch, and the moment she began I said quite firmly, ‘Well, my dear, it’s no good your asking me to do anything, because I’m absolutely up to my eyes and sailing day after tomorrow at some ghastly hour like cock-crow.’ And she was just beginning to go all orphan-of-the-storm, when Francis came in, and she dried right up and got rid of me as soon as she possibly could-I can’t think why. I wouldn’t have married Francis if he’d been fifty times as rich, but we’ve always got on all right.”