All over England people were waking up, queasy and despondent. Tony lay for ten minutes very happily planning the renovation of his ceiling. Then he rang the bell. ``Has her ladyship been called yet?''

``About quarter of an hour ago, sir.''

``Then I'll have breakfast in her room.''

He put on his dressing gown and slippers and went through into Guinevere.

Brenda lay on the dais. She had insisted on a modern bed. Her tray was beside her and the quilt was littered with envelopes, letters and the daily papers. Her head was propped against a very small blue pillow; clean of makeup, her face was almost colourless, rose-pearl, scarcely deeper in tone than her arms and neck.

``Well?'' said Tony.

``Kiss.''

He sat by the tray at the head of the bed; she leant forward to him (a nereid emerging from fathomless depths of clear water). She turned her lips away and rubbed against his cheek like a cat. It was a way she had.

``Anything interesting?''

He picked up some of the letters.

``No. Mama wants nanny to send John's measurements. She's knitting him something for Christmas. And the mayor wants me to open something next month. Please, needn't I?''

``I think you'd better, we haven't done anything for him for a long time.''

``Well you must write the speech. I'm getting too old for the girlish one I used to give them all. And Angela says will we stay for the New Year?''

``That's easy. Not on her life, we won't.''

``I guessed not ... though it sounds an amusing party.''

``You go if you like. I can't possibly get away.''

``That's all right. I knew it would be `no' before I opened the letter.''

``Well what sort of pleasure can there be in going all the way to Yorkshire in the middle of winter ...''