you to _telegraph_. I
said _telephone_. I wonder if you ought to consult an aurist, dear lady?
And even if you did misunderstand, you might have concentrated on what
you were doing for _five_ minutes, don't you think? I don't wish to be
disagreeable, but what you have done has given me a sleepless night.
Several other things have gone wrong, too, but this is the worst,
because I'm not sure what the consequences may be. Add to not sleeping
the fact that I'm up at an unearthly hour in order to write to you, and
to hear news of my Wilmot (which had an accident yesterday), and you
will excuse me if I don't trim my sentiments with roses.

Almost the last words you said to me were, "One good turn deserves
another." I did you a good turn in speaking of you in a _certain_ way to
a _certain_ person, as you asked me to do. It was a pleasure to serve
you, because of the gratitude owing you for many past kindnesses when
life was something of a struggle for me. Still, you seemed to think the
other day that I had paid a good part of the debt, and that it was up
to _you_ now. I don't think I should have asked the favour I did ask, if
you hadn't offered. We were both pretty frank about what we wanted, and
after what passed I felt I could count on you, as you could count on me.

All the evening after I'd come in from a disgusting and pointless
expedition I expected to be called to the telephone. There was a dance
at the hotel which I was unable to enjoy, as I have never learned any of
the new dances, and some girls seem to have little appreciation of the
higher pleasure of sitting out with a partner of intelligence, not to
mention money. By the way, not only did I owe an exceedingly unpleasant
adventure with my car to Captain Winston's obstinate determination to
see Montauk Point (where there's nothing to see), but I owe him another
grudge for upsetting my plans for the night. At dinner, casting his eye
round the dining-room, he happened to remark that none of the young men
present looked tall enough to act as partners for those beanpole
Goodrich girls. "Beanpole" is _my_ expression, not his. "Storm is the
right size," he went on meddlesomely, in that calm British way he has of
taking it for granted that whatever _he_ says must be right. "I wonder
if Storm dances?"

Your errant secretary was dining at another table, by himself, and at
some distance from the tables of the rest of the party, who were grouped
together in order to talk ac