“A fellow must amuse himself,” remarked Charlie gloomily, and with apparent unconsciousness he took a glass from Laing and drained it.     

       “Gambling and drink—what does that mean?” asked Sir Roger.     

       “Shut up, Deane,” said Charlie.     

       Miss Bellairs rose suddenly and walked away. Her movement expressed impatience with her surroundings. After a moment Charlie Ellerton slowly sauntered after her. She sat down on a garden-seat some way off. Charlie placed himself at the opposite end. A long pause ensued.     

       “I’m afraid I’m precious poor company,” said Charlie.     

       “I didn’t want you to be company at all,” answered Miss Bellairs, and she sloped her parasol until it obstructed his view of her face.     

       “I’m awfully sorry, but I can’t stand the sort of rot Deane and Laing are talking.”     

       “Can’t you? Neither can I.”     

       “They never seem to be serious about anything, you know,” and Charlie sighed deeply, and for three minutes there was silence.     

       “Do you know Scotland at all?” asked Charlie at last.     

       “Only a little.”     

       “There last year?”     

       “No, I was in Switzerland.”     

       “Oh.”     

       “Do you know Interlaken?”     

       “No.”     

       “Oh.”     

       “May I have a cigarette?”     

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