It was not until Darius had been a fortnight in my employ that I saw Miss Berrith again. The occasion was a dinner — the first at “Sans Souci.” Arbuthnot came down from town to spend the night, and I invited Mr. Berrith and his daughter over to make up a four. I particularly desired to show Miss Berrith the manner in which I had worked out the sublime conception of celibate domesticity at which she had seen fit to tilt her nose. I wished her to know that when she had said “Then there is no chance for me,” it was one of the many true words spoken in jest. I intended to have her understand that, among all the rooms in my bungalow, there was no room for a wife. I was prepared deliberately to direct her attention to the absence of closet space and a bath-tub. In short, I designed this dinner as a “house-warning.”
Mr. Berrith was the kind of man into whom one can stick an infinite number of interesting
