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“That looks ripping,” said Simpson. “Oh, look here, Myra, do you–No, don’t come; you’ll spoil the picture. I suppose you have to–oh, it’s all right, I think I’ve got it.”

“I shan’t try to look handsome this time,” said Archie; “it’s not worth it. I shall just put an ordinary blurred expression on.”

“Now, are you ready? Don’t move. Quite still, please; quite–“

“It’s instantaneous, you know,” said Myra gently.

This so unnerved Simpson that he let the thing off without any further warning, before we had time to get our expressions natural.

“That was all right, Myra, wasn’t it?” he said proudly.

“I’m–I’m afraid you had your hand over the lens, Samuel dear.”

“Our new photographic series: ‘Palms of the Great.’ No. 1, Mr. S. Simpson’s,” murmured Archie.

“It wouldn’t have been a very good one anyhow,” I said encouragingly. “It wasn’t typical. Dahlia should have had an orange in her hand, and Myra might have been resting her cheek against a cactus. Try it again, Simpson, and get a little more colour into it.”

He tried again and got a lot more colour into it.

“Strictly speaking,” said Myra sadly, “you ought to have got it on to a new film.”

Simpson looked in horror at the back of his camera, found that he had forgotten to turn the handle, apologized profusely, and wound up very gingerly till the number “2” approached. “Now then,” he said, looking up … and found himself alone.

* * * * *

As I write this in London I have Simpson’s album in front of me. Should you ever do us the honour of dining with us (as I hope you will), and (which seems impossible) should there ever come a moment when the conversation runs low, and you are revolving in your mind whether it is worth while asking us if we have been to any theatres lately, then I shall produce the album, and you will be left in no doubt that we are just back from the Riviera. You will see oranges and lemons and olives and cactuses and palms; blue sky (if you have enough imagination) and still bluer sea; picturesque villas, curious effects of rocks, distant backgrounds of mountain … and on the last page the clever kindly face of Simpson.

The whole affair will probably bore you to tears.

But with Myra and me the case of course is different. We find these things, as Simpson said, very jolly to look back on.