*THINGS AND PERSONS* *I* That night, as usual, the Quinneys retired to bed at half-past ten. At eleven, the door of Joe’s bedroom opened noiselessly, and the little man’s head, crowned with a ridiculous smoking-cap appeared. His body followed arrayed in a flowered silk dressing-gown. Posy’s room was upstairs. Susan joined her husband. She was wearing what may be described as a compromise kit. Her pretty hair, still long and abundant, hung down her back in two braids. She had put on a peignoir of wadded silk, a garment not likely to rustle as she walked. Upon her small feet were thick felt slippers. In this costume she looked ten years younger, and she was pleasurably aware of this for reasons that will appear presently. Quinney closed his bedroom door. They listened for a moment, but no sound came from above. Probably Posy was in bed, counting the minutes till the big clock on the stairs summoned her to meet her lover. Quinney and Susan tip-toed down to the first floor. In the sanctuary a fire was burning in the dog-grate. Quinney smiled grimly, as he realized that Posy had replenished it with logs which burned brightly enough to illuminate the room with a soft amber glow. "Sit down, mother." Susan sat down in an armchair just opposite the fire. As a rule, this chair occupied its own particular corner. Posy, therefore, must have placed it in front of the hearth. Evidently Posy considered that one chair would suffice for two persons. Meanwhile, Quinney made his dispositions behind the screen. Presently he appeared, rubbing his hands and chuckling quietly. The walls in these fine old houses were so comfortably sound-proof, that he had no hesitation in speaking in his usual voice. "There! Couched in the ambush, as Shakespeare says. Do you remember, old dear, when me and you took a course o’ the Bard to improve our powers o’ speech?" Susan sighed. In the tender light she looked almost the Susan whom he had courted long ago. "Yes; we were young then, Joe." "We’re young still, dearie. Young and spry! Full o’ beans."