candour to the group in general.
'Why shouldn't I get into trousers if I want to?' demanded Mrs. Williamson and sniffed.
'I hope you've got them fastened with a safety pin at the back,' said Roger fatuously.
Everyone looked at him inquiringly, and he wished he had not spoken.
'Miss Le Neve's trousers were too large for her,' he had to explain, 'and she took a tuck in them at the back with a safety pin. The captain of the liner noticed it and thought it rather odd.'
'Lilian's certainly aren't too large for her,' said Mr. Williamson, with a rude husbandly laugh, 'though they may be quite as odd. Eh, Lilian? What?'
'I like my trousers tight,' said Mrs. Williamson and sniffed again.
Roger, who was not so interested in these garments as the others appeared to be, turned the conversation with a jerk.
'I haven't met your sister - in - law yet, Miss Stratton,' he said, in a blandly conversational tone. 'I wonder if you'd introduce me?'
'David's wife? Yes, of course. Where is she?'
'She was at the bar a minute ago.'
'She's mad,' observed Mr. Williamson, with some interest.
'Really, Osbert!' expostulated his wife, with a glance at Celia Stratton.
'Oh, don't mind me,' said Miss Stratton kindly.
Roger could not let this promising opening pass. 'Mad? Is she? I like mad people. What particular form does your sister - in - law's madness take, Miss Stratton?'
'Oh, I don't know,' Celia Stratton said lightly. 'She's just generally mad, I expect, if Osbert says so.' Roger noticed that in spite of the lightness of her tone there was an undercurrent of caution in Miss Stratton's voice. It was almost as if she had been glad to accept the idea of her sister - in - law's madness, in order to hide something worse.
'She wants to talk about her soul,' explained Osbert Williamson with some gloom.
'Osbert isn't interested in souls,' Mrs. Williamson explained. 'Not having one of his own, he can't very well be.'
'I'm not interested in her soul,' pronounced Mr. Williamson. 'But I'd keep an eye on her, Celia, if I were you. When I was with her she was swigging down double whiskies nineteen to the dozen and saying she wanted to get tight because it was the only thing worth while, or some nonsense.'
'Oh, dear,' sighed Miss Stratton, 'is she in that mood? Perhaps I'd better go and look after her then.'
'Why does she want to get tight?' Mr. Williamson asked her as she moved away.
'She thinks it clever. Mr. Sheringham, you'd better come with me if you want to meet her.'
Roger went with alacrity.
CHAPTER II
NOT A NICE LADY
IT WAS Ronald Stratton's custom to enliven his parties with charades. As he candidly explained, this was solely because he happened to like charades, and as the party was his he did not see why he should not play them. Unfortunately for Roger, Ronald had decided upon charades at just that moment, and before the introduction could be effected Celia Stratton had been called in to search the sitting - out places for unwilling players. Meanwhile sides were chosen out of those who were present; and since Mrs. David Stratton and Roger were on opposite sides, the acquaintanceship had again to be postponed. Roger was interested, however, to find that the lady's husband was on his side.
Although he had known Ronald Stratton slightly for some years, Roger had never before met David. As with so many brothers, the two were utterly unlike. Ronald was not particularly tall, David was quite six feet; Ronald was broad, David was slight; Ronald was dark, David fair; Ronald had a snub nose, David an aquiline one; Ronald was enthusiastic and, sometimes, rather childish in his amusements, David had a wearily disillusioned air, and his wit (for he was witty) had a cynical trend; one would have said that Ronald was the younger and David the elder, instead of the other way about.
Celia Stratton, who had been appointed captain of the side, took her duties seriously. It was their turn to perform first, and, shepherding her flock out of the ballroom, she called firmly upon Roger for an actable word of two syllables. Roger instantly found his mind an utter and complete blank and could only eye the bar with distant longing. In the end it was David Stratton who produced the word, and a neat little three - act drama to fit it, which, as an impromptu, impressed Roger considerably.
'Your brother's very much on the spot tonight,' he remarked casually to Celia as they looked out props suitable to the inhabitants of Nineveh prior to the engulfment of Jonah by the whale.
'Oh, David can usually be relied on for something like that,' said Miss Stratton.
'Can he? I wonder he doesn't try his hand at writing.'
'David? He used to do a little before he married. Punch, you know, and some of the weeklies. We thought at one time that he might do something quite good. He began a book which promised very well.'
'Why didn't he finish it?'
Celia Stratton bent a little lower over the drawer into which she was delving. 'Oh, he got married,' she said; and once again Roger felt that she was hiding something under the apparent indifference of her tone.
He looked at her curiously but did not pursue the topic. Of two things, however, he felt quite sure: that somehow David Stratton's marriage had spoilt what might have been a successful career, and that Celia Stratton was not nearly so indifferent about it as she pretended.
More mystery, he thought.
Under cover of the general badinage he observed David Stratton more closely. At a first glance the latter looked animated enough, as he laughingly tried to persuade a pretty, plump woman, whom everyone called Margot, to impersonate the whale; but it needed little more than a casual look to see that underneath the temporary excitement was an immense weariness. Indeed the man looked tired to death, and not only tired but positively ill; and yet Roger knew that his job of acting as his brother's estate agent was not at all an exacting one. Why then did he look as if he had hardly slept for a month?
Roger wondered if he were making mountains out of molehills.
The charades pursued their usual and hilarious course, and Roger found himself enjoying them absurdly. The Williamsons were on his side, and so was Dr. Mitchell and his pretty young bride, to whom her groom was as patently and as unselfconsciously devoted as any wife could have hoped. Roger found himself becoming quite sentimental in contemplation of the two of them. Jean Mitchell was dressed as Madeleine Smith, in crinoline and poke bonnet, and looked quite charming enough to deserve all the attentions that were being poured out on her.
It was not until their own turn of activity was ended and they were sitting on a row of chairs at one end of the ballroom, waiting to deride the efforts of the other side, that a hint of drama underneath the froth began to show itself.
Roger found himself rather marooned.
On his left sat Celia Stratton, with Dr. Mitchell and his wife beyond her; on his right the plump lady called Margot, whom Roger had now discovered to be Ronald Stratton's late wife, with David Stratton separating her from her fiance, a large and somewhat silent young man whose name Roger had gathered to be Mike Armstrong. And almost immediately Celia Stratton had begun to engage in a low - toned and extremely earnest conversation with Dr. Mitchell, while ex - Mrs. Mar - got Stratton at the same time embarked on an exactly similar one with David Stratton. Roger hid his yawns and wished that the other side would be a little quicker.
Then, willy - nilly, scraps of the two conversations began to reach him.
'But are you sure it was Ena who was responsible for it?' he heard Celia Stratton ask, in a worried voice.
'Positive,' Dr. Mitchell replied grimly. 'I went straight round to Mrs. Farebrother as soon as Jean told me, and she said that Ena had told her. In the strictest confidence, of course. Confidence! I told Mrs. Farebrother it was
