lined with some stuff I found
in Mademoiselle's room. At least," added Box coyly, "I think it must
have been Mademoiselle's room! You can sit in the well every evening
after supper. The walls of this room"--prodding the same--"are lined
with sandbags, covered with tapestry. Pretty artistic--what?"

"Extremely," agreed the Staff Captain. "You will excuse my raising the
point, I know, but can the apartment now be regarded as shell-proof?"

"Against everything but a direct hit. I wouldn't advise you to sleep
on this floor much, but you could have your meals here all right.
Then, if the Boche starts putting over heavy stuff, you can pop down
into the basement and have your dessert in bed. You'll be absolutely
safe there. In fact, the more the house tumbles down the safer you
will be. It will only make your protection shell thicker. So if you
hear heavy thuds overhead, don't be alarmed!"

"I won't," promised the Staff Captain. "I shall lie in bed, drinking
a nice hot cup of tea, and wondering whether the last crash was the
kitchen chimney, or only the drawing-room piano coming down another
storey. Now show me my room."

"We have had to put you in the larder," explained Box apologetically,
as he steered his guest through a forest of struts with an electric
torch. "At least, I think it's the larder: it has a sort of meaty
smell. The General is in the dairy--a lovely little suite, with white
tiles. The Brigade Major has the scullery: it has a sink, so is
practically as good as a flat in Park Place. I have run up cubicles
for the others in the kitchen. Here is your little cot. It is only six
feet by four, but you can dress in the garden."

"It's a _sweet_ little nest, dear!" replied the Staff Captain, quite
hypnotised by this time. "I'll just get my maid to put me into
something loose, and then I'll run along to your room, and we'll have
a nice cosy gossip together before dinner!"

* * * * *

In due course we removed our effects from the tottering and rat-ridden
dug-outs in which we had taken sanctuary during the shelling, and
prepared to settle down for the winter in our new quarters.

"We might be _very_ much worse off!" we observed the first evening,
listening to the comfortably muffled sounds of shells overhead.

And we were right. Three days later we received an intimation from the
Practical Joke Department that we were to evacuate our present sector
of trenches (including Hush Hall