It was now the Authority’s turn to get the reproachful looks.

“Are they very much alike?” my hostess asked me, much impressed.

“Very much.  Blackman’s Warbler is often mistaken for the Chiff-chaff, even by so-called experts”—­and I turned to the Authority and added, “Have another sandwich, won’t you?”—­“and particularly so, of course, during the breeding season.  It is true that the eggs are more speckled, but—­”

“Bless my soul,” said the Authority, but it was easy to see that he was shaken, “I should think I know a Chiff-chaff when I hear one.”

“Ah, but do you know a Blackman’s Warbler?  One doesn’t often hear them in this country.  Now in Switzerland—­”

The bird said “Chiff-chaff” again with an almost indecent plainness of speech.

“There you are!” I said triumphantly.  “Listen,” and I held up a finger.  “You notice the difference? Obviously a Blackman’s Warbler.”

Everybody looked at the Authority.  He was wondering how long it would take to get a book about birds down from London, and deciding that it couldn’t be done that afternoon.  Meanwhile “Blackman’s Warbler” sounded too much like the name of something to be repudiated.  For all he had caught of our mumbled introduction I might have been Blackman myself.

“Possibly you’re right,” he said reluctantly.

Another bird said “Chiff-chaff” from another tree, and I thought it wise to be generous.  “There,” I said, “now that was a Chiff-chaff.”

The earnest-looking girl remarked (silly creature) that it sounded just like the other one, but nobody took any notice of her.  They were all busy admiring me.

Of course I mustn’t meet the Authority again, because you may be pretty sure that when he got back to his books he looked up Blackman’s Warbler and found that there was no such animal.  But if you mix in the right society and only see the wrong people once it is really quite easy to be an authority on birds—­or, I imagine, on anything else.

A.A.M.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  The Woman.  “JAZZ STOCKINGS ARE THE LATEST THING, DEAR.  HERE’S A PICTURE OF A GIRL WITH THEM ON.”

The Man.  “WHAT APPALLING ROT!  ER—­AFTER YOU WITH THE PAPER.”]

* * * * *

“HONOURS.”

(BY A CYNIC.)

  A DUKEDOM, GRAND OR OTHERWISE,
  NO LONGER IS AN ENVIED PRIZE
  WHEN EVERY DAY SOME FIERCE COMMISSION
  CLAMOURS FOR DUCAL INHIBITION. 
  THE STYLE OF MARQUESS—­THUSWISE SPELT—­
  IS PICTURESQUE, BUT, LIKE THE BELT
  OF EARLDOM, CANNOT LONG ABIDE
  OR STEM THE DEMOCRATIC TIDE. 
  VISCOUNTIES STAND TO CHEER AND BLESS
  THE LABOURS OF THE PURPLE PRESS,
  AND BARONIES, ONCE HELD BY ROBBERS,
  ARE GIVEN TO PATRIOTIC JOBBERS. 
  UNCOMPROMISING MALEDICTION
  RESTS ON THE BARONETS OF FICTION;