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"
I laughed. "It's one of the little ironies that please the high gods
so immensely. They have an elementary sense of humour--like that of
the funny fellow who pulls your chair from under you and shrieks with
laughter when you go wallop on to the floor. Well, I don't grudge them
their amusement. They must have a dull time settling mundane affairs,
and a little joke goes a long way with them, as it does in the House
of Commons. Fancy sitting on those green benches legislating for all
eternity, with never a recess and never even a dinner hour! Poor high
gods! Let us pity them."
I looked at him and smiled, perhaps a little wearily. One can always
command one's eyes, but one's lips sometimes get out of control. He
could not have noticed my lips, however, for he cried:
"By George, you're splendid! I wish I could take a knock-out blow like
that!"
"You'll have to one of these days. It's the only way of taking it. And
now," said I, in a businesslike tone, "I've told you all this with a
purpose. At Wymington it will be a case of 'Le Roi est mort.


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