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"Well," said Robin reverently, "I never thought much of Hitler, but as he made the Mixo-Lydians be refugees, I suppose we must give the devil his due."

Anne industriously scraped the last flakes from the dish and handed him the spoon.

"God bless you for that kind act," said Robin. "One more mouthful of that pudding and I feel my foot would grow again."

His father looked at him, half in distress, half in pride.

"And two more mouthfuls and I'd be sick," he added thoughtfully.

"Oh, please, everybody," said Anne's light voice.

The table was silent, everyone looking at her.

"Oh, it's only," said Anne, blushing furiously and pleating her table napkin with agitated fingers, "that Gradka will come in now. Please, daddy, say something nice to her. She will bring the coffee in. Come on, Robin, and get the table ready."

While she and Robin tidied the table and put fruit from the garden and glasshouse upon it and took the pudding-dish away, Sir Robert went to the sideboard.

"Only Empire port, I fear," he said. "But we must drink Gradka's health. I wonder if it would be etiquette in Mixo-Lydia to offer her a glass."