about anything you like, how you like. Well, I'll give you a start. Which do you enjoy more a week-end here or at the Barrington's, say?"
"Well; of course, that would depend—"
"Take it that she was there in both cases."
"Ass," said Bill, putting an elbow into Antony's ribs. "It's a little difficult to say," he went on. "Of course they do you awfully well here."
"Yes."
"I don't think I know any house where things are so comfortable. One's room—the food—drinks—cigars—the way everything's arranged: All that sort of thing. They look after you awfully well."
"Yes?"
"Yes." He repeated it slowly to himself, as if it had given him a new idea: "They look after you awfully well. Well, that's just what it is about Mark. That's one of his little ways. Weaknesses. Looking after you."
"Arranging things for you?"
"Yes. Of course, it's a delightful house, and there's plenty to do, and opportunities for every game or sport that's ever been invented, and, as I say, one gets awfully well done; but with it all, Tony, there's a faint sort of feeling that well, that one is on parade, as it were. You've got to do as you're told."
"How do you mean?"
"Well, Mark fancies himself rather at arranging
