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    Donaghue, the chauffeur, winked at Evans. 'The blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice, as you might say.'
    'Not in my kitchen, if you please, Mr Donaghue,' said the cook with dignity.
    'Sorry,' said the chauffeur.
    'It's a pity that it had to happen now,' said Evans. 'I'd hoped to get away before the bubble bust. It doesn't do one any good in getting a new place, this sort of thing.'
    'That's what I say, Mr Evans,' said the cook. 'It makes things very difficult, I'm sure. Mistresses don't like it, say what you will.'
    'Well,' said the chauffeur. 'She's got a nice new place, and no mistake.'
    'I wouldn't be too sure she'll keep it,' said Evans.
    'Ah,' said the cook darkly. The evil stoop and pick up luck.'
    They moved away about their work again. Donaghue followed Elsie out into the hall. 'It's a rotten break-up, this,' he said. 'Just as we were beginning to get to know each other, too.' He had only been there for about two months. He was cursing himself, boyishly and miserably, that he had not made more headway with the girl in that two months. He hadn't wanted to rush things. And now this bust-up had come.
    'I'm sorry, too,' she said. 'But that's life all over, that is. Just as you think you've got nicely settled down, something happens.'
    That's right,' he said enthusiastically. 'I've often thought it was like that.'
    They stood in silent, intimate communion for a moment. He mustered his courage. 'Were you doing anything tomorrow afternoon? Your half day, isn't it?'
    She said, 'I always go and see my Aunt Millie, at Streat-ham. She's been ever so good to me since I came to London.'
    'I was wondering if you'd like to see a picture,' he said awkwardly . 'There's some good ones on . . .'
    She smiled radiantly on him . 'That's ever so nice of you, Mr Donaghue,' she said . 'I could see Aunt Millie on Sunday. I could get ready by half-past two.'
    'That's a date,' he said, and went to polish a clean car in an exultant dream.
    Warren worked steadily for some hours in his office . He cleared up the arrears of his work with some half-formed idea that he might go away . He was tired and stale. He had no particular desire to take a holiday, 4>ut he could not go on in Grosvenor Square alone. He felt that he must have a break in his routine.
    'Looking like death again this afternoon,' remarked his typist to her friend. 'I bet there's something wrong.'
    He knocked a pencil from his desk in the late afternoon, and stooped to pick it up. A sudden cramp shot through his abdomen and for a minute he was wrung with pain; then it relaxed, and he was sitting motionless in his chair, a little white and breathing very carefully for fear it would come on again. Presently he began to move, cautiously at first, then with increasing confidence. 'Exercise,' he thought. 'I ought to get more exercise. I'll the at fifty if I don't look out.'
    He left the office at about seven o'clock and walked part of the way home through the wet, lamp-lit streets in pursuit of his new resolution. He went down Cheapside, over Hoi-born Viaduct, past Gamage's and Kingsway nearly to Tottenham Court Road. There he was tired and a little faint, and took a taxi to his house in Grosvenor Square. 'I can't go letting myself get run down like this,' he thought. 'I'd better get away and get some exercise.'
    He had a whisky and a bath when he got home, and felt refreshed; he put on a dinner jacket and went down to dine alone. With the first mouthful his appetite left him; he ate very little, and went through into the library for coffee. He drank two cups of coffee and a little brandy, and felt better. He sat in his deep chair before the fire, and faced the problem of his sleep.
    He knew he would not sleep. He had hardly slept at all the previous night; he knew that it would be the same again. He would not sleep without his allonal, and he had done with that. You need to be physically tired to sleep; it was imperative to him that he should get more exercise, at once, and quickly.