easily break one's neck down this staircase!"
His words gave me a new idea, and as I went down I looked at the staircase with different eyes. Thirty feet down it was a small door; I pushed it open, and saw the church bells.
We walked straight down to the village, and drove back to London. Sir Reginald came up to my rooms for some tea, and I had barely given him a whiskey and soda when Chelubai and Bottiger came; and we hardened our hearts harder by yet more bridge with him. The three of them got as near snarling as politeness allows, or even nearer. I enjoyed it, for I felt that as I had had the tiresome drive, they should in all justice have their share of Sir Reginald now. I have never been at an afternoon party at which the guests were so hard put to it to keep from flying at one another's throats, or the hostess be hard put to it to keep the peace. Angel showed an admirable tact and quickness.
When at last, with a last languishing glance and last compliment, Sir Reginald took his leave of us, Bottiger broke out, saying: "Really, Roger, I can't understand how you can allow that insufferable old ruffian to bore your sister all day—the drive was enough!"
I said severely: "The path of Philanthropy cannot be all roses. You should not expect it."
Chelubai said, with a very honorable warmth:
