convinced that the contributing cause to the presence of the late Simon Fuge in the boat on Ilam Lake on the historic night was Annie the superior barmaid, and not Sally of the automobile.  But Mrs Colclough, if not beautiful, was a very agreeable creation.  Her amplitude gave at first sight an exaggerated impression of her age; but this departed after more careful inspection.  She could not have been more than thirty.  She was very dark, with plenteous and untidy black hair, thick eyebrows, and a slight moustache.  Her eyes were very vivacious, and her gestures, despite that bulk, quick and graceful.  She was happy; her ideals were satisfied; it was probably happiness that had made her stout.  Her massiveness was apparently no grief to her; she had fallen into the carelessness which is too often the pitfall of women who, being stout, are content.

‘How do, missis?’ Mr Brindley greeted her, and to his wife, ’How do, missis?  But, look here, bright star, this gadding about is all very well, but what about those precious kids of yours?  None of ‘em dead yet, I hope.’

‘Don’t be silly, Bob.’

‘I’ve been over to your house,’ Mrs Colclough put in.  ’Of course it isn’t mumps.  The child’s as right as rain.  So I brought Mary back with me.’

‘Well,’ said Mr Brindley, ’for a woman who’s never had any children your knowledge of children beggars description.  What you aren’t sure you know about them isn’t knowledge.  However—­’

‘Listen,’ Mrs Colclough replied, with a delightful throwingdown of the glove.  ’I’ll bet you a level sovereign that child hasn’t got the mumps.  So there!  And Oliver will guarantee to pay you.’

‘Aye!’ said Mr Colclough; ‘I’ll back my wife any day.’

‘Don’t bet, Bob,’ Mrs Brindley enjoined her husband excitedly in her high treble.

‘I won’t,’ said Mr Brindley.

‘Now let’s sit down.’  Mrs Colclough addressed me with particular, confidential grace.

We three exactly filled the sofa.  I have often sat between two women, but never with such calm, unreserved, unapprehensive comfortableness as I experienced between Mrs Colclough and Mrs Brindley.  It was just as if I had known them for years.

‘You’ll make a mess of that, Ol,’ said Mr Brindley.

The other two men were at some distance, in front of a table, on which were two champagne bottles and five glasses, and a plate of cakes.  ‘Well,’ I said to myself, ’I’m not going to have any champagne, anyhow.  Mercurey!  Green Chartreuse!  Irish whisky!  And then champagne!  And a morning’s hard work tomorrow!  No!’

Plop!  A cork flew up and bounced against the ceiling.

Mr Colclough carefully emptied the bottle into the glasses, of which Mr Brindley seized two and advanced with one in either hand for the women.  It was the host who offered a glass to me.

‘No, thanks very much, I really can’t,’ I said in a very firm tone.