“It was.”

She nodded.

“Last New Year’s Eve. I kissed you under the mistletoe. Perhaps I will again if you’re good.”

“I don’t feel at all good, I’m afraid.”

She raised brows which were becomingly darkened to match the darkened lashes.

“How odd, darling! How do you think Phyllida is looking?”

If she hoped for a rise she didn’t get one.

“I haven’t had much opportunity of judging, have I?”

Lydia darted a glance at him.

“No, you haven’t, so I’ll tell you. She’s too pale, she’s too thin. She’s unhappy, she’s bored, and she’s tied up hand and foot. What are you going to do about it? You can be thinking up the answer whilst I talk to Dicky. And don’t stab me in the back, because it’ll make a mess of my brocade, and I can’t afford a funeral this month anyway-not after paying my income tax and the rent of my flat.”

The last words were said over her shoulder. Before they were fairly out of her mouth Dicky was saying,

“Look here, fair’s fair. I took you in, didn’t I? You’ve got to talk to me till Aunt Grace is done with Frank.”

Elliot addressed himself to a sulky and offended Brenda. It took so little to offend her that on any other occasion he might not have bothered to bring her round, but in the circumstances he had to be talking, to be interested, occupied-anything but the discarded husband lingering superfluous on the scene. He exerted himself to such purpose that Brenda relaxed sufficiently to inform him that she was thinking of joining the Women Police.

“What a marvellous idea!”

She stared suspiciously.

“What do you mean by that, Elliot?”

“What should I mean? I think it’s a perfectly splendid idea.”

Brenda sniffed.

“Well, I can’t say that I do, and I can’t say I’m looking forward to it. But if you grant the necessity for women police you will agree that they require a personnel, and that being the case, I feel it my duty to apply for enrollment.”