"Seven years," he answered. "Enough to be a corporal." Then he turned back to Molly, and Judith was silent. Would she ever get to the end of his life and the things into which it had led him? She wanted to ask him more, but he was too obviously engrossed in his companion, and as the duties of her own position required attention, she had no further conversation with him. But as the meal progressed, and the sherry followed the cocktails, and the claret followed the sherry, and the champagne followed the claret, the conversation began to centre more and more around Good. It became almost a monologue, as he talked and they listened. Judith was mostly silent, in sheer amazement, although occasionally she could not resist a smile at his drolleries. And when he told stories, she laughed with the rest. He possessed a remarkable faculty for imitation, and the characters in his stories required no "he said" to identify them. His voice and manner changed for each one. Once, in a pause, she interrupted him. "You ought to be on the stage," she cried admiringly. "Never again," he said shortly, leaving her once more in dumfounded silence. Never had she sensed this social side to her strange guest. Her interest in him had been primarily intellectual. He had seemed all serious. She had never forgotten the guise in which he had first appeared to her. But this was so utterly different. She found it impossible to understand. As she scanned the laughing faces about the board, another curious thing struck her. The array of glasses in front of Good was quite untouched. But the same phenomenon was to be observed in front of her brother. It was the first time she had ever seen that, and as she rejoiced, she marvelled. It was an unusually effective party, she reflected, as they rose, leaving the men to their cigars and coffee, and the cause of its success was plain. She smiled to herself at the fears with which she had decided upon his presence. She wondered if he guessed how surprised she was. But later, when the gathering began to disintegrate into little groups of two's and three's, Good became strangely silent. The sparkle had gone out of his eyes, she thought, and with it, the sparkle from his mind. The bursts of laughter became less frequent, and finally ceased altogether. The lines of his face appeared to droop, as she had rarely seen them, and he stood to one side, rather moodily, as if in contemplation of his companions. His behaviour was singular. But the others appeared to notice nothing untoward. Indeed, many of them had ceased to notice him at all. He was a novelty, and like all novelties and new sensations, with them, he had begun to pall. If he was acting deliberately, she reflected, he was acting not unwisely. He was withdrawing at the apex of his hour.