and at every third banister there was a shield picked out in scarlet and gold.  And at the bottom of the balustrade and at the turn a little oak lion sat on his haunches and held up yet another shield (picked out in scarlet and gold) in his fore-paws.  The bare oak planks of the upper floor made the ceiling, and there was an enormous Tudor rose in the middle of it, where other people might have had a chandelier, and little Tudor roses blazed at intervals all along the cornice.  And there was a great stone hearth and chimney-piece, a Tudor chimney-piece, mullioned, with a shield carved in the centre and the motto:  “Dominus Defensor Domi,” and on either side the rose and the grill, the rose and the grill, alternately.  There were andirons on the hearth and an immense log burning, and swords and daggers and suits of armour hung on the gold walls above the panelling.

And I swear to you that the curtains and upholstery were in tapestry cloth, the lilies of France in gold on a crimson ground.  It was as if Jimmy had wanted to say to the Thesigers that if it came to being Tudor, he could be as Tudor as any of them, and more so.  Thus deeply had he absorbed the Canterbury atmosphere.

When she saw the suits of armour Norah squeezed my arm and breathed “Oh—­my darling Wally!”—­in an ecstasy that was anguish.  Poor Mildred’s plump face turned as scarlet as the Tudor roses with an emotion that we could not fathom, but judged to be painful.

We had come early with the idea of making ourselves useful, if necessary; but there was hardly anybody there yet, only two or three guests drinking coffee or champagne-cup at the long table under the windows, and Jimmy, who stood in the middle of his Tudor hall, talking to one of the confraternity, and rocking himself gently from his toes to his heels and from his heels to his toes again, as a sign that he was not in the least elated, but only at his ease.

He was delighted to see us, and for quite three seconds he ceased his rocking and began to twinkle in a most natural and reassuring manner.  Then I remember him scuttling away to greet another guest, and the confrere gazing after him with affection and turning to us in a sort of grave enjoyment of the scene.  I remember Viola coming up to us and her little baffling smile and her look—­the look she was to have for long enough—­of detachment from Jimmy and his Tudor hall.  I remember the dark blue, half-transparent gown she wore that was certainly not Tudor, and her general air of being an uninvited and inappropriate guest, and how she conveyed us to the table to get drinks “all comfy” before the others came.  And when Viola had drifted away, I remember Charlie Thesiger strolling up to us.  The supercilious youth had been, getting a drink “all comfy” on his own account, and his little stiff moustache was still wet with Jimmy’s champagne-cup above the atrocious smile he met us with.

He asked us if we’d seen the drawing-room.