The lamb turned irately upon its good shepherd. “Why on earth did you butt in with that absurd story? I’d just thought of a splendid way of breaking the news to her that we aren’t married.” “Yes, and ruining everything!” retorted Mr. Priestley, stung to annoyance once more. In brief, snappy sentences he showed this obtuse young woman exactly why it was necessary for the landlady to continue in her delusion. His argument was unanswerable. Without giving her whole case away Laura was unable to pursue that particular line. Woman-like, she instantly directed her irritation into a fresh channel. “Well, now you can hardly sleep in the kitchen,” she snapped. “Where _do_ you imagine you’re going to sleep, I’d like to know?” “Where I always did,” Mr. Priestley snapped back. “In here.” Laura looked at him with wide eyes. “Don’t be absurd, please. That’s out of the question.” “Anything else is out of the question,” Mr. Priestley said angrily. “It’s you who are being absurd. What you don’t seem to understand is that this is a question of life or death.” Once again Laura was up against a brick wall. “Well, anyhow, you’re not going to sleep in here. Kindly get that out of your head once and for all. As soon as you’ve gone I shall lock the door.” “In that case,” said Mr. Priestley grimly, “I shall break it in.” They looked at each other stormily. Upon this Pleasing domestic scene the landlady returned. The constraint in the atmosphere was obvious, but the landlady did not mind that. Quite natural, most excitingly natural, in the circumstances. She dispensed elderberry wine with a generous hand. The occasion called for a generous hand, and the landlady did not fail to respond. Her hand was more than generous; it was prodigal. “My best respex,” said the landlady happily, raising her tumbler, unlike the other tumblers only a quarter full. “Uh-huh!” replied Mr. Priestley, with a brave attempt at a smile, and raised his tumbler. Mr. Priestley, as we have already seen, had a Palate. Elderberry-wine does not harmonise with a Palate. Life seemed very bleak at that moment to Mr. Priestley. He swallowed three large gulps like the gentleman he was, then set his half-empty tumbler down. At precisely the same moment, with an astringent face, Laura was setting her tumbler down. Instantly the landlady pounced on them and re-filled them to the brim. “That’ll put you as right as rain,” she announced. Mr. Priestley looked at her with deepened gloom. “It was very nice,” he lied manfully. “Very nice indeed. But I think I won’t have any more, really.” “And catch your deathacold, sir, instead?” retorted the landlady. “No, you drink that up, and you won’t have to worry about colds.” “I don’t think I will, really,” Mr. Priestley wriggled. “I’ll be getting along now and——” “If I were you, mum,” the landlady informed Laura, “I should _make_ him. Mark my words, you’ll have him on your hands with the influenza if you don’t.”