“Don’t talk like that,” said Ashe.  “That’s another thing you have got to remember.  If my treatment is to be successful you must not let yourself think in that way.  You must exercise self-control mentally.  You must think beautiful thoughts.”

“The idea of skinning you is a beautiful thought!” said Mr. Peters wistfully.

* * *

In order that their gayety might not be diminished—­and the food turned to ashes in their mouths by the absence from the festive board of Mr. Beach, it was the custom for the upper servants at Blandings to postpone the start of their evening meal until dinner was nearly over above-stairs.  This enabled the butler to take his place at the head of the table without fear of interruption, except for the few moments when coffee was being served.

Every night shortly before half-past eight—­at which hour Mr. Beach felt that he might safely withdraw from the dining-room and leave Lord Emsworth and his guests to the care of Merridew, the under-butler, and James and Alfred, the footmen, returning only for a few minutes to lend tone and distinction to the distribution of cigars and liqueurs—­those whose rank entitled them to do so made their way to the housekeeper’s room, to pass in desultory conversation the interval before Mr. Beach should arrive, and a kitchen maid, with the appearance of one who has been straining at the leash and has at last managed to get free, opened the door, with the announcement:  “Mr. Beach, if you please, dinner is served.”  On which Mr. Beach, extending a crooked elbow toward the housekeeper, would say, “Mrs. Twemlow!” and lead the way, high and disposedly, down the passage, followed in order of rank by the rest of the company, in couples, to the steward’s room.

For Blandings was not one of those houses—­or shall we say hovels?—­where the upper servants are expected not only to feed but to congregate before feeding in the steward’s room.  Under the auspices of Mr. Beach and of Mrs. Twemlow, who saw eye to eye with him in these matters, things were done properly at the castle, with the correct solemnity.  To Mr. Beach and Mrs. Twemlow the suggestion that they and their peers should gather together in the same room in which they were to dine would have been as repellent as an announcement from Lady Ann Warblington, the chatelaine, that the house party would eat in the drawing-room.

When Ashe, returning from his interview with Mr. Peters, was intercepted by a respectful small boy and conducted to the housekeeper’s room, he was conscious of a sensation of shrinking inferiority akin to his emotions on his first day at school.  The room was full and apparently on very cordial terms with itself.  Everybody seemed to know everybody and conversation was proceeding in a manner reminiscent of an Old Home Week.

As a matter of fact, the house party at Blandings being in the main a gathering together of the Emsworth clan by way of honor and as a means of introduction to Mr. Peters and his daughter, the bride-of-the-house-to-be, most of the occupants of the housekeeper’s room were old acquaintances and were renewing interrupted friendships at the top of their voices.