`But how can you get home?' asked Mrs Conroy.

`O, it's only two steps up the quay.'

Gabriel hesitated a moment and said:

`If you will allow me, Miss Ivors, I'll see you home if you are really obliged to go.'

But Miss Ivors broke away from them.

`I won't hear of it,' she cried. `For goodness' sake go in to your suppers and don't mind me. I'm quite well able to take care of myself.'

`Well, you're the comical girl, Molly,' said Mrs Conroy frankly.

`Beannacht libh,' cried Miss Ivors, with a laugh, as she ran down the staircase.

Mary Jane gazed after her, a moody puzzled expression on her face, while Mrs Conroy leaned over the banisters to listen for the hall-door. Gabriel asked himself was he the cause of her abrupt departure. But she did not seem to be in ill humour — she had gone away laughing. He stared blankly down the staircase.

At that moment Aunt Kate came toddling out of the supper-room, almost wringing her hands in despair.

`Where is Gabriel?' she cried. `Where on earth is Gabriel? There's everyone waiting in there, stage to let, and nobody to carve the goose!'

`Here I am, Aunt Kate!' cried Gabriel, with sudden animation, `ready to carve a flock of geese, if necessary.'

A fat brown goose lay at one end of the table, and at the other end, on a bed of creased paper strewn with sprigs of parsley, lay a great ham, stripped of its outer skin and peppered over with crust crumbs, a neat paper frill round its shin, and beside this was a round of spiced beef. Between these rival ends ran parallel lines of side-dishes: two little minsters of jelly, red and yellow; a shallow dish full of blocks of blancmange and red jam, a large green leaf-shaped dish with a stalk-shaped handle, on which lay bunches of purple raisins and peeled almonds, a companion dish on which lay a solid rectangle of Smyrna figs, a dish of custard topped with grated nutmeg, a small bowl full of chocolates and sweets wrapped in gold and silver papers and a glass vase in which stood some tall celery stalks.