tural infidel above referred to
charged this to my account. As is my humble wont, I bent my head to
the storm, strong in the fearless confidence that France is France, and
that, late as we were, the ever-open bar would not be closed._

"Tell me more of yourself," I hear you say.

_That may not be, che-ild._

_For one thing, that venison has made me sleepy. Secondly, I am just
off to find a suitable and sheltered grove, within sound of the
Atlantic, where I may spend an hour in meditation. Thirdly, I live for
others._

_Jonah wants to know if your husband can play golf. He does, of
course. But can he?_

_Your dear old friend,
BERRY._

_P.S.--D'you happen to know who owns a large grey cabriolet with a
"G.B." plate? I imagine it lives at Biarritz. Anyway, they ought to
be prosecuted. Driving about the country like a drunken hornet.
Mercifully we were crawling. Otherwise ... I tell you, it made my
b-b-blood b-b-boil. Not at the time, of course._

* * * * *

The pine woods were wholly delightful.

The lisp of the wind among the branches, the faint thunder of the
Atlantic, the soft sweet atmosphere showed us a side of Biarritz which
we should have been sorry to miss. By rights, if music and perfume
have any power, we should have fallen asleep. The air, however,
prevented us. Here was an inspiriting lullaby--a sleeping-draught
laced with cordial. We plucked the fruit from off the Tree of
Drowsiness, ate it, and felt refreshed. Repose went by the board. We
left the cars upon the road and went strolling....

"D'you think you could get me that spray?" said Jill suddenly.

In my cousin's eyes flora have only to be inaccessible to become
desirable. Remembering this, I did as Berry and Jonah were
doing--stared straight ahead and hoped very hard that she was not
speaking to me.

"Boy!"

"Yes, dear?"

"D'you think you could...?"

By the time I had torn my trousers, strained my right shoulder, sworn
three times, and ruined the appearance of my favourite brogues, the
others were out of sight.

"Thanks awfully, Boy. You are good to me. And that'll look lovely in
the drawing-room. The worst of it is, this stuff wilts almost at once."

"Seems almost a shame to have picked it," I said grimly, "doesn't it?"

"It does really," Jill agreed. "Never mind," she added cheerfully,
slipping an arm through mine. "It was my fault."

Subduing a desire to lie down on my ba