So when Lenox returned to London, he went over the new house with an awed, pleased eye-it was just as he had imagined it being-but with the consciousness as well that he had to confront the problem of Graham. The next morning he had a rather radical idea.

He rang the bell, and soon Graham appeared with a breakfast tray laden with eggs, ham, kippers, and toast, a pot of fragrant black coffee to the side. He was a compact, sandy-haired, and intelligent-looking man.

“Good morning, Graham.”

“Good morning, sir. May I welcome you back less formally to London?” The previous night the servants had lined the hall and curtsied and bowed in turn to the newlyweds, then presented them with the wedding present of a silver teapot.

“Thanks. That’s awfully kind of you-it’s a wonderful pot. Graham, would you sit down and keep me company for a moment? You don’t mind if I eat, do you? Fetch yourself a cup to have some of this coffee if you like.”

Graham shook his head at the offer but sat down in the armchair across from Lenox, an act that would have drawn gasps from many of Lenox’s acquaintances for its familiarity. They made idle chat about Switzerland as Lenox gulped down coffee and eggs, until at last, sated, he pushed his plate away and sat happily back, patting the crimson dressing gown over his stomach.

“How long have we known each other, Graham?” asked Lenox.

“Twenty-one years, sir.”

“Is it really that long? Yes, I suppose I was eighteen. It scarcely seems credible. Twenty-one years. We’ve grown middle-aged together, haven’t we?”

“Indeed, sir.”

“I just got married, Graham.”

The butler, who had been at the wedding, allowed himself the ghost of a smile. “I heard something of it, sir.”

“Did you never consider it?”

“Once, sir, but the lady’s affections were otherwise engaged.”