e's a dear. It's getting late."

She went, and left the red over the middle pocket.

"A-ha!" I said. I found a nice place in the "D" for my ball. "Now then.
This is the Gray stroke, you know."

I suppose I was nervous. Anyhow, I just nicked the red ball gently on
the wrong side and left it hanging over the pocket. The white travelled
slowly up the table.

"Why is that called the grey stroke?" asked Celia with great interest.

"Because once, when Sir Edward Grey was playing the German
Ambassador--but it's rather a long story. I'll tell you another time."

"Oh! Well, anyhow, did the German Ambassador get anything for it?"

"No."

"Then I suppose I don't. Bother."

"But you've only got to knock the red in for game."

"Oh!... There, what's that?"

"That's a miss-cue. I get one."

"Oh!... Oh well," she added magnanimously, "I'm glad you've started
scoring. It will make it more interesting for you."

There was just room to creep in off the red, leaving it still over the
pocket. With Celia's ball nicely over the other pocket there was a
chance of my twenty break. "Let's see," I said, "how many do I want?"

"Twenty-nine," replied Celia.

"Ah," I said ... and I crept in.

"That's three to you," I said icily. "Game."

BURLESQUES

THE SEASIDE NOVELETTE

[MAY BE READ ON THE PIER]

No. XCVIII--A SIMPLE ENGLISH GIRL

CHAPTER I

PRIMROSE FARM

Primrose Farm stood slumbering in the sunlight of an early summer morn.
Save for the gentle breeze which played in the tops of the two tall elms
all Nature seemed at rest. Chanticleer had ceased his song; the pigs
were asleep; in the barn the cow lay thinking. A deep peace brooded over
the rural scene, the peace of centuries. Terrible to think that in a few
short hours ... but perhaps it won't. The truth is I have not quite
decided whether to have the murder in this story or in No. XCIX.--_The
Severed Thumb_. We shall see.

As her alarum clock (a birthday present) struck five, Gwendolen French
sprang out of bed and plunged her face into the clump of nettles which
grew outside her lattice window. For some minutes she stood there,
breathing in the incense of the day; then dressing quickly she went down
into the great oak-beamed kitchen to prepare breakfast for her father
and the pigs. As she went about her simple duties she sang softly to
herself, a song of love and knightly deeds. Little did she think that a
lover, even at that moment, stood outside h