When we consider how simple the elements of perfect happiness appear to be, regarded in the abstract, it becomes surprising to think how difficult it is to attain them in the concrete. A kind magician may grant us all we ask, may transport us whither we would go, dower us with all we lack, bring to us one desired companion after another, but something is wrong. We have a toothache, or in spite of our rich curtains there's a draught, or the loved one haps not to be at the moment congenial: and we pitifully pray the wizard to wave his wand again. Would any magician wave his for these four troublesome folk? It must be admitted that they hardly deserved it. Nevertheless a magician was at work, and, with the expiration of the next night, his train was laid. At eleven o'clock in the forenoon of Friday, Roger Deane had a final interview with the still hesitating Painter. "But if the police should come, Sir Roger?" urged the fearful man. "Why, you'll look a fool, that's all. Isn't the figure high enough?" "Most liberal, Sir Roger, but--but it will alarm my wife." "If you come to that, it'll alarm my wife." "Very true, Sir Roger." Painter seemed to derive some comfort from this indirect community of feeling with the aristocracy. "It'll alarm everybody, I hope. That's what it's for. Now mind--2.30 sharp--and when the coffee's been in ten minutes. Not before! I must have time for coffee." "Very good, Sir Roger." "Is the ladder ready?" "Yes, Sir Roger." "And the what's-its-name?" "Quite ready, Sir Roger." "Let's see it." It was inspected and pronounced satisfactory. Then Roger Deane set out to return to his hotel, murmuring contentedly: "If that don't make up their minds for 'em, I don't know what will." Then he paused suddenly. "Gad! Will the women have hysterics?" he asked, but in a moment he added, reassuring himself, "Maud never has, and, hang it, we must chance the rest." Arrived at home he found Arthur Laing kicking his heels in the smoking-room. "Lunching with you to-day, ain't I, somewhere in the Palais-Royal?" asked the visitor. "Yes, some place the General's found out. Look here, Laing, are you a nervous man?" "Nervous! What do you take me for?" "Lose your head in moments of excitement?" "I never have 'em." "Oh, well, hang you! I say, Laing, you're not a fool. Just look here. Anything I say--anything, mind--at lunch today, you're not to contradict. You're to back me up." "Right you are, old chap." "And the more infernal nonsense it sounds, the more you're to take your oath about it." "I'm there." "And finally, you're on no account to lay a finger either on Miss Travers or on Dora Bellairs." "Hullo! I'm not in the habit of beating women at any time, let alone at a lunch-party." "I mean what I say: you're not to touch either of them. If you do you'll spoil it. You're to go for Miss Bussey." "She's not done me any harm."