"When are you coming?" she interrupted.
"Not for a day or two," I answered regretfully. "I'm spending Whitsun with the Rodens."
Joyce shook my hand in silence through the window of the taxi, and then abruptly congratulated me.
"What on?" I asked.
"Your week-end party. How perfectly glorious!"
"Why?"
"You're going to be in at the death," she answered, as the taxi jerked itself epileptically away from the kerb.