"It is the best jam in the world," says Uncle Christopher, promptly, and without a blush. "But I hope you won't spoil your pretty white fingers making it for me." "Oh, no, I shan't," says Dulce, shaking her head sweetly. "Cook does all the nasty part of it; she is good enough at that." "I wonder what the nice part of it is?" says Roger, thoughtfully. "There is no nice part; it is all work--_hard_ work, from beginning to end," returns his _fiancee_, severely. "I shan't eat any more of it if it gives you such awful trouble," says Dicky Browne, gallantly but insincerely; whereupon Roger turns upon him a glance warm with disgust. "Dulce," says the Boodie, who is also in the room, going up to Miss Blount, whom she adores, and clasping her arms round her waist; "let _me_ go and see you make it; _do_," coaxingly. "I want to get some when it is _hot_. Mamma's jam is always cold. Darling love of a Dulce, take me with you and I'll help you to _peel_ them." "Let us all go in a body and see how it is done," says Sir Mark, brilliantly. A proposal received with acclamations by the others, and accepted by Dulce as a special compliment to herself. They all rise (except Sir Christopher) and move towards the hall. Here they meet Fabian coming towards them from the library. Seeing the cavalcade, he stops short to regard them with very pardonable astonishment. "Where on earth are you all going?" he asks; "and why are Dulce's arms bare at this ungodly hour? Are you going in for housepainting, Dulce, or for murder?" "Jam," says Miss Blount proudly. "You give me relief. I breathe again," says Fabian. "Come with us," says Dulce, fondly. He hesitates. Involuntarily his eyes seek Portia's. Hers are on the ground. But even as he looks (as though compelled to meet his earnest gaze) she raises her head, and turns a sad, little glance upon him. "Lead, and I follow," he says to Dulce, and once more they all sweep on towards the lower regions. "After all, you know," says Dulce, suddenly stopping short on the last step of the kitchen stairs to harangue the politely dressed mob that follows at her heels, "it might, perhaps, be as well if I went on first and prepared cook for your coming. She is not exactly impossible you see, but to confess the truth she can be at times difficult." "What would she do to us?" asks Dicky, curiously. "Oh! nothing, of course; but," with an apologetic gesture, "she might object to so many people taking possession of her kingdom without warning. Wait one moment while I go and tell her about you. You can follow me in a minute or two." They wait. They wait a long time. Stephen Gower, with watch in hand, at last declares that not one or two, but quite five minutes have dragged out their weary length. "Don't be impatient; we'll see her again some time or other," says Roger, sardonically, whereupon Mr. Gower does his best to wither him with a scornful stare.