“Yes,” he said simply, “it was.”

“How does it feel to be Methuselah?” asked Flora.

This time the laughter was more apparent, but Blunt was following out an idea of his own.

“Remember the Johnny who sold his soul to the devil? In return for being made young again? There’s an opera about it.”

“ Faust , you mean?”

“That’s the beggar. Rum story. Some of us would do it if we could.”

“Anyone would think you were creaking at the joints to hear you talk,” cried Flora, half vexed, half amused.