Returning home from the Bureau, I found Elizabeth studying a time-table.

’I see it’s a ‘undred and eighty-three miles to Manchester,’ she commented, ‘an’ the fare’s 15s. 5 1/2d.’

‘That’s an old time-table you’ve got,’ I hastened to remark, ’it is now L2 13s. 7 1/2d.—­return fare.’

‘I shan’t want no return ticket,’ said Elizabeth grimly.

Sickening outlook, wasn’t it?

* * * * * *

The day of my dinner-party dawned fair and bright, but Elizabeth was raging.  Things got so bad, in fact, that about mid-day I decided I must telephone to the Boscombes and tell them Henry had suddenly been taken ill; and I was just looking up the doctor’s book to find something especially virulent and infectious for Henry, when Elizabeth came in.  Amazing to relate, her face was wreathed in smiles.

‘They’ve sent from the Domestic Boorow,’ she began.

‘What!’ I exclaimed, ‘did they get me a waitress after all?’

She smirked.  ’They’ve sent a man this time.  A footman ’e was before the War, but ’e didn’t take it up again arter ’e was demobbed.  Just now, bein’ out of a job ‘e’s takin’ tempory work and-----’

‘He seems to have told you quite a lot about himself already,’ I interposed.

She smirked again.  ’I ‘adn’t been talkin’ to ’im ten minutes afore ’e arsked me wot was my night out.  ‘E isn’t arf a one.’

‘It seems he isn’t,’ I agreed.  And I sent up a silent prayer of thankfulness to Heaven and the Domestic Bureau.  ’But what about the Amalgamated boilermaker?’

’Oh, ‘im!’ She tossed her head. ‘’E can go to—­Manchester.’

CHAPTER XI

‘Have you observed William closely, recently, Netta?’ Henry asked me.  ‘Something seems to have happened to him?’

‘Why should I observe William?’ I demanded, puzzled, ’he is not the sort of man a woman would observe, closely or otherwise.’

’That is exactly one of the reasons why I like him—­you leave him alone,’ remarked that horrid Henry.  ’I can talk to him without your distracting his attention by flirting with him.’

I felt wounded.  ‘Henry, this is monstrous.’

’You cannot deny, my dear, that I have brought men—­fluent conversationalists—­round here for a pleasant evening’s debate only to see them become abstracted and monosyllabic directly you appear.’

‘You can’t blame me for that, Henry.’

’Yes, I do.  You deliberately seek to interest them.  I’ve seen you at it.  You spare no pains or powder to gain your object.  Don’t dare to deny it.’

Chastened, I replied meekly:  ’Dear Henry, I love my fellow-creatures—­if they haven’t beards,’ I added hastily.  ’After all, doesn’t the Scripture command it?’

‘But you don’t love William.’

‘The Scripture says nothing at all about William,’ I replied decidedly.  ’I—­er—­tolerate him.  What is this you tell me about something having happened to him?’