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she's biting the bullet all right?'
    'She seems resigned.' 'Then all is well.'
    ‘I suppose so. And yet .. . Monty, do you ever get a feeling that something unpleasant is going to happen ?'
    ‘I got it two days ago, when my Lord Tilbury reached for the slack of my trousers and started to heave me out.'
    'I've got it. I was saying so to Ronnie, and he told me not to be morbid.'
    'Ronnie knows words like "morbid", does he? Two syllables and everything.' 'Monty, what is Ronnie's mother really like?' Monty rubbed his chin. 'Haven't you met her yet?' 'No. She's been over in Biarritz.' 'But is returning?' 'I suppose so.'
    "Myes. Post-haste, I should imagine. 'Myes!' 'For goodness sake, don't say '"Myes". You're making my flesh creep. Is she such a terror ?'
    Monty scratched his right cheekbone.
    'Well, I'll tell you. Many people would say she was a genial soul.'
    'That's what Ronnie said.'
    'The jovial hunting type. Lady Di. Bluff goodwill, the jolly smile for everyone, and slabs of soup at Christmas time for the deserving villagers. But I don't know. I'm not so sure. I'll tell you this much. When I was a kid I was far more scared of her than I was of Lady Constance.'
    'Why?'
    'Ah, there you have me. But I was. Still, don't let me take the joy out of your life. For all we know, she may at this very moment be practising "O Perfect Love" on the harmonium. And now, I don't want to hurry you, but the sands are running out a bit. My train goes at two forty-five .. .'
    'What?'
    'Two-four-five, pip emma.'
    ' You aren't going to Blandings today. .. by the two forty-five?' 'That's right.'
    'But I'm going back on the two forty-five.' 'Well, that's fine. We'll travel together.' 'But we mustn't travel together.'
    'Why not? Nobody's going to see us, and we can be as distant as the dickens on arrival. Pleasant chit-chat as far as Market Blandings, and cold aloofness from there on, is the programme as I see it. It's silly to overdo this perfect stranger business.'

Sue, thinking it over, was inclined to agree with him. She had had one solitary railway journey that day, and was not indisposed for pleasant company on the way back.
    'And if you think, young Susan,' said Monty, who, though chivalrous, could stand up for his rights, 'that I intend to wait on and travel by something that stops and shunts at every station, you err. It's a four hours' journey even by express. We'll just nip round to my flat and pick up my things. ..'
    'And miss the train. No, thank you. I can't take any chances. I'll meet you at the station.'
    'Just as you like,' said Monty agreeably. ‘I was only thinking that if you came to my flat. I could show you sixteen photographs of Gertrude.'
    'You can describe them to me on the journey.'
    'I will,' said Monty. 'Waiter, laddishiong.'
    It was as the hands of the big clock at Paddington station were pointing to two-forty that Lady Julia Fish made her way through the crowd on the platform, her progress rendered impressive by the fact that her maid, two porters, and a boy who mistakenly supposed that he had found a customer for his oranges and nut-chocolate revolved about her like satellites around a sun.
    Towards the turmoil in her immediate neighbourhood she displayed her usual good-humoured disdain. Where others ran she sauntered. Composedly she allowed one porter to open the door of an empty compartment, the other to place therein her bag, papers, novels, and magazines. She dismissed the maid, tipped the porters, and, settling herself in a corner seat, surveyed the bustle and stir without in an indulgent manner.
    The ceremony of getting the two forty-five express off was now working up to a crescendo. Porters flitted to and fro. Guards shouted and poised green flags. The platform rang with the feet of belated travellers. And the train had just given a sort of shiver and began to move out of the station, when the door of the compartment was wrenched open and something that seemed to have six legs shot in, tripped over her, and