I’m glad they didn’t want any encouragement to stay put. I didn’t want them with me. Marshall Ellis is a bore, and I am unable to understand why his face hasn’t been pushed in long ago. Wilcannia-Smythe gets under my skin at times. Lubers is a humourless iconoclast whom I find irritating, and Ella is exceedingly depressing after twenty-four hours. That leaves Twyford Arundal, who is really amusing when he’s properly drunk. Janet has been a little difficult, and I have been boozing too much.”

“Quite a tale of woe. Poor old Mervyn! Never mind. Janet likes having people about her, and the end of the house party is in sight, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Of course, I’m with Janet up to a point. One must mix. One must use people, especially influential people, and the lion of the moment is decidedly influential in London. Make no mistake, I use you, too, but then in my own fashion I’m fond of you. Your coming home with me will save my reason. Your glass is empty.”

They left the Australia at five minutes past six and proceeded to a car park for Blake’s car. Nancy Chesterfield suggested that she should drive, but that proposal he put aside. The evidence of his condition was not manifest in his gait, nor at first did it become manifest in his driving. His voice betrayed it to her. He spoke now very slowly and distinctly, with an accent he fondly thought was genuine Oxford.

Having called for her case, he drove with excessive caution till they were beyond the tram terminus, and then raised the speed so high that she had to remonstrate with him.

“My dear Nancy, we’re not driving in a T-model Ford. My nerves are steady. My eyes are wide open.”

“But my nerves are not particularly good today. I had a hectic morning with the Chief,” she told him.

“Indeed! You astonish me,” he said. “No one but creative writersare entitled to nerves. If this old dame in front doesn’t get clear in two seconds she is going to cop it, as the vulgar would say.”