The taxi was paid, the two men went upstairs. Aaron was in bed, but he called as Lilly entered the room.

“Hullo!” said Lilly. “Not asleep? Captain Herbertson has come in for a minute.”

“Hope I shan’t disturb you,” said Captain Herbertson, laying down his stick and gloves, and his cap. He was in uniform. He was one of the few surviving officers of the Guards, a man of about forty–five, good– looking, getting rather stout. He settled himself in the chair where Aaron had sat, hitching up his trousers. The gold identity plate, with its gold chain, fell conspicuously over his wrist.

“Been to ‘Rosemary,’” he said. “Rotten play, you know—but passes the time awfully well. Oh, I quite enjoyed it.”

Lilly offered him Sauterne—the only thing in the house.

“Oh, yes! How awfully nice! Yes, thanks, I shall love it. Can I have it with soda? Thanks! Do you know, I think that’s the very best drink in the tropics: sweet white wine, with soda? Yes—well!— Well —now, why are you going away?”

“For a change,” said Lilly.

“You’re quite right, one needs a change now the damned thing is all over. As soon as I get out of khaki I shall be off. Malta! Yes! I’ve been in Malta several times. I think Valletta is quite enjoyable, particularly in winter, with the opera. Oh—er—how’s your wife? All right? Yes!—glad to see her people again. Bound to be— Oh, by the way, I met Jim Bricknell. Sends you a message hoping you’ll go down and stay—down at Captain Bingham’s place in Surrey, you know. Awfully queer lot down there. Not my sort, no. You won’t go down? No, I shouldn’t. Not the right sort of people.”

Herbertson rattled away, rather spasmodic. He had been through the very front hell of the war—and like every man who had, he had the war at the back of his mind, like an obsession. But in the meantime, he skirmished.

“Yes. I was on guard one day when the Queen gave one of her tea– parties to the blind. Awful affair. But the children are awfully nice children. Prince of Wales awfully nice, almost too nice. Prince Henry smart boy, too—oh, a smart boy. Queen Mary poured the tea, and I handed round bread and butter. She told me I made a very good waiter. I said, Thank you, Madam. But I like the children. Very different from the Battenbergs. Oh!—” he wrinkled his nose. “I can’t stand the Battenbergs.”

“Mount Battens,” said Lilly.

“Yes! Awful mistake, changing the royal name. They were Guelfs, why not remain it? Why, I’ll tell you what Battenberg did. He was in the Guards, too—”

The talk flowed on: about royalty and the Guards, Buckingham Palace and St. James.

“Rather a nice story about Queen Victoria. Man named Joyce, something or other, often used to dine at the Palace. And he was an awfully good imitator—really clever, you know. Used to imitate the Queen. ‘Mr. Joyce,’ she said, ‘I hear your imitation is very amusing. Will you do it for us now, and let us see what it is like?’ ‘Oh, no, Madam! I’m afraid I couldn’t do it now. I’m afraid I’m not in the humour.’ But she would have him do it. And it was really awfully funny. He had to do it. You know what he did. He used to take a table–napkin, and put it on with one corner over his forehead, and the rest hanging down behind, like her veil thing. And then he sent for the kettle–lid. He always had the kettle–lid, for that little crown of hers. And then he impersonated her. But he was awfully good—so clever. ‘Mr. Joyce,’ she said. ‘We are not amused. Please leave the room.’ Yes, that is exactly what she said: ‘WE are not amused—please leave the room.’ I like the WE, don’t you? And he a man of sixty or so. However, he left the room and for a fortnight or so he wasn’t invited—Wasn’t she wonderful—Queen Victoria?”