r roof-tree would, it was hinted, be more frequent and enduring if the
establishment was strengthened by the addition of a presentable young
man.

I consented. It was three to one. To any one acquainted with the trio of
sisters arrayed against me, it will at once be apparent that "these
odds" (as the halfpenny papers say) "but faintly represent the
superiority of the winning side."

Having thus dragged the reader without apology into the most intimate
regions of my family circle, I had perhaps better introduce myself and
my _entourage_ a little more formally.

My name is Samuel Adrian Inglethwaite. Why I was called Samuel I do not
know. Possibly my parents did. Samuel may have been a baptismal sprat
set to catch a testamentary whale, but if this was so no legacy ever
came my way. Personally, I am rather attached to the name, as I was
called nothing else until I encountered the lady who ultimately
consented to become Mrs Inglethwaite. Since that epoch in my career I
have been S. Adrian Inglethwaite.

I am thirty-six years of age, and hold an appointment under Government,
which, while it does not carry with it Cabinet rank--though Kitty cannot
see why--is sufficiently important to make the daily papers keep my
obituary notice handily pigeon-holed, in case I fall over the Thames
Embankment, get run over by a motor-bus, or otherwise contravene the
by-laws of the London County Council.

As no man can possibly give an unbiassed opinion of his own wife, I
shall not attempt to describe mine at this juncture, except to mention
that she is a woman with no fault that I can for the moment recall,
beyond a predilection for belonging to societies which are better known
for their aims than for their achievements, are perennially short of
funds, and seem to possess no place of meeting except my drawing-room.

Dolly and Dilly are Kitty's sisters. They are twins, and there present
age is, I think, nineteen. Though I say it who should not, they are both
astonishingly attractive young persons, and the more I see of them the
more the fact is borne in upon me. Indeed, a casual remark of mine to
that effect, uttered to my wife, by an unfortunate coincidence, on the
very morning upon which one of the numerous Deceased Wife's Sister's
Bills passed its Second Reading in the House, gave rise to a coldness of
demeanour on her part which was only dispelled by an abject apology and
a dinner for two at the Savoy on mine.

To return to Dolly a