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“He is,” said Paul, “as Dan says, a pure sentimentalist.”

The atmosphere had lightened. Jasper’s departure and Barnabas’ little speech had had a curious effect upon it. A mental fog had previously crept into the studio. It often found its way into the rooms Jasper entered. Sometimes he seemed to leave it behind, but it generally came to find him, creeping thin and ghostlike through the keyhole, through the cracks in the doors, through the chinks in the windows, settling thickly round him, and casting its gloom over the room and the other occupants.

And the gods of Joy and Laughter, who cannot breathe in such an atmosphere, would silently depart. Now, however, they had found their way back, slipping easily and gladly into the place they loved.

When, half an hour later, Michael limped down the garden path with Paul, he nodded in the direction of studio number seven.

“Shall we say Tuesday afternoon for our call?” he asked carelessly.

Paul had a momentary feeling of surprise. He did not show it.