“Sit down. Drink it. And don’t talk.” And he stood over her while she obeyed. Then he took the glass, rinsed it and put it back in its case. “Would you like a cushion?” “No, I’m quite all right. Come over here. Sit down by me just a minute, will you, Robert? Ah, that’s very nice.” She turned and thrust the piece of heliotrope in the lapel of his coat. “That,” she said, “is most becoming.” And then she leaned her head against his shoulder, and he put his arm round her. “Robert——” her voice like a sigh—like a breath. “Yes——” They sat there for a long while. The sky flamed, paled; the two white beds were like two ships. . . . At last he heard the servant girl running along the corridor with the hot water cans, and gently he released her and turned on the light. “Oh, what time is it? Oh, what a heavenly evening. Oh, Robert, I was thinking while you were away this afternoon . . .” They were the last couple to enter the dining-room. The Countess was there with her lorgnette and her fan, the General was there with his special chair and the air cushion and the small rug over his knees. The American Woman was there showing Klaymongso a copy of the _Saturday Evening Post._ . . . “We’re having a feast of reason and a flow of soul.” The Two Topknots were there feeling over the peaches and the pears in their dish of fruit, and putting aside all they considered unripe or overripe to show to the manager, and the Honeymoon Couple leaned across the table, whispering, trying not to burst out laughing. Mr. Queet, in everyday clothes and white canvas shoes, served the soup, and Antonio, in full evening dress, handed it round. “No,” said the American Woman, “take it away, Antonio. We can’t eat soup. We can’t eat anything mushy, can we, Klaymongso?” “Take them back and fill them to the rim!” said the Topknots, and they turned and watched while Antonio delivered the message. “What is it? Rice? Is it cooked?” The Countess peered through her lorgnette. “Mr. Queet, the General can have some of this soup if it is cooked.” “Very good, Countess.” The Honeymoon Couple had their fish instead. “Give me that one. That’s the one I caught. No it’s not. Yes, it is. No it’s not. Well, it’s looking at me with its eye so it must be. Tee! Hee! Hee!” Their feet were locked together under the table. “Robert, you’re not eating again. Is anything the matter?” “No. Off food, that’s all.” “Oh, what a bother. There are eggs and spinach coming. You don’t like spinach, do you. I must tell them in future . . .” An egg and mashed potatoes for the General. “Mr. Queet! Mr. Queet!” “Yes, Countess.” “The General’s egg’s too hard again.” “Caw! Caw! Caw!” “Very sorry, Countess. Shall I have you another cooked, General?”