"You're very jolly in here," said de Courtrai thrusting his feet out towards the gas fire. "A nice warm room--we're at the top. You're getting your knick-knacks about, I see." "Yes--just a few I've brought." Suddenly from the other side of the room came a loud "Ooh!" It was from Wellington who had been walking round on a tour of inspection. He had halted at John's ivory brushes, with his father's monogram and crest. "What charming brushes!" he sang. "Look, my dear, aren't they just too lovely!" He carried the tray to de Courtrai. The latter looked. "Yes, I believe they're heavier than mine. But Welly, you mustn't be so rude." "Oh, it's all right," said John weakly. The next exclamation came from de Courtrai, who suddenly saw the portraits on the dressing table. "Who's this?" he asked picking up Vernley's portrait. "My friend." "What a sweet face!" John could hardly agree, and he thought with a smile, what Vernley would have said if he had heard himself called "sweet." "And this?" Wellington picked up Marsh's photograph. "Another friend," replied John briefly. Next to it stood a portrait of Muriel. He didn't want them to probe all his secrets. He was a fool for putting it out. But de Courtrai's eyes travelled over it without notice, to a Sedley group. "Who's this with the ball?" "Oh--that's Lindon, the Captain." "What a wonderful figure!" "Yes--he weighed twelve-stone-four. He was stroke in the first eight too," said John, "and he's a fine pianist." "You can tell he's an artist by his eyes," exclaimed Wellington. "I never make a mistake that way; do I, my dear!" He giggled and sat down. "Never, Welly--you've a gift for the s'nice and s'naughty." "Go h'on!" giggled Wellington, dabbing his face. John stared, de Courtrai saw the wonder in his eyes. "We must hobble off--we're in the way--well see you again." "Don't forget Wednesday," cried Wellington in the doorway. "Ta-ta!" called de Courtrai. The door closed. What a pair! John didn't know whether to laugh or be angry. They were very vulgar and inquisitive, but also very friendly. He would not encourage them, however. He resumed his unpacking. An hour later he had finished, and was preparing for bed, when there was another tap on the door. This time he pretended not to hear; he did not want them in again. But when the tap was repeated, he went to the door and opened it. In the darkness of the landing, he could not see who it was. Captain Fisher paused on the threshold. He had come out of the darkness and stood blinking in the light. John waited, for he seemed about to say something. There was a long pause, a clearing of the throat, then-- "Permit me to introduce myself, sir, I am Captain Fisher, Fisher of the 3rd Foot, sir. Twelve years China Station, twelve Malta, six Gold Coast--damn it. Glad to know you, sir!" he stammered, then bowed low. Embarrassed, John bowed also.