she would play all night rather than lose
a note of Signore Carissimi. The other two went, and nobody
wanted them. I've forgotten the woman's second husband's
name--he's dead--but her son's the man I told you about. Of
course, he hadn't expected to meet me, and I hope he felt like
a fool. I was so glad it wasn't him, but Paggy. They played
right through the Kreutzer, and didn't want the music, which
couldn't be found, and then did bits again, and it was
absolutely glorious. Even mamma (she's fond of music--it's her
only good quality--and where should I get mine from if she
wasn't?) couldn't stop quite stony, though she did her best,
I promise you. As for papa, he was chuckling so over mamma's
dilemma--because she wanted to trample on Paggy, and it _was_
a dilemma--that he didn't care how long it went on. And do you
know, dear, it _did_ go on--one thing after another, that Frau
glued to the clavier like a limpet not detachable without
violence--till nearly one in the morning, having begun at ten
about! And there was papa and Egerton and Theeny all
sniggering at mamma, I know, in secret, and really proud of
the connexion, if the truth were known. Mamma tried to get a
little revenge by saying to me freezingly when the Hoefenhoffer
had gone: 'I suppose you are going home with Mr. Bradshaw,
Laetitia? Good-night.' And then she said _goodn_ to Paggy just
as she had said _howd_. I thought Paggy behaved so nicely.
However, I'll tell you all about that on Monday.

"Papa was _very_ nice--came out on the doorstep to say
good-night, and, do you know--it really _is_ very odd; it must
be the sea air--papa said to Paggy as we were starting: 'How's
the head--the nerves, you know--eh, Master Julius?' And
actually Paggy said: 'Why, God bless my soul, I had forgotten
all about them!' Oh, Sally darling, just think! Suppose they
got well, and all because I treated him to a honeymoon! Oh,
my gracious, what a long letter!"

"There now! that _is_ a letter and a half. 'With love from us both,'
mine affectionately. And twelve pages! And Tishy's hand's not so
large, neither, as all that." This is Sally, as epilogue; but her
mother puts in a correction:

"It's thirteen pages. There's a bit on a loose page you haven't read."
Sally has seen that, and it was nothing--so she says; but Fenwick
picks it up and reads it alou