ll when you get
this.

My mind is busy working the plan out, so that there may be no hitch, but
a few unoccupied corners of my brain are wondering what you have
discovered about Miss Lethbridge's prospects and antecedents; how, if
both are very undesirable, you intend to persuade Dick to let her drop.
If I were you I wouldn't waste arguments. Retain him a few days if you
can, though I fear the only way to do so is to have a fit. I believe
that can be arranged by eating soap and frothing at the mouth, which
produces a striking effect, and, though slightly disagreeable, isn't
dangerous. But seriously, if he refuses to hear reason, don't worry. I
am on the spot to snatch him at the last moment from the mouth of the
lionness, provided she opens it wide enough to swallow him.

Your ever useful and affectionate sister,

Gwen.

P. S. The Tyndals have got a cousin of George's with them, a budding
millionaire from Eton, who has fallen in love at sight with the
Lethbridge. But even Dick can't be jealous of childhood, and it may be
helpful.

Taking everything together, I am enjoying myself here, though I'm
impatient to get your letter. Cornwall agrees with Sir Lionel's
disposition, and he is being delightful to everyone. I think while he is
in the right mood I shall repeat to him what a sad failure my marriage
was, and how little I really care for gaiety; "Society my lover,
solitude my husband," sort of thing. He is the kind of man to like that,
and the sweet, soft air of Cornwall is conducive to credulity.

XIX

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_King Arthur's Castle, Tintagel_,
_August 12th_

Most Dear and Sovran Lady: I call you that because I've just
been reading Sir Thomas Malory's "Le Morte d'Arthur" (is that Old French
spelling?), and because the style of address seems suitable to King
Arthur's Castle--which isn't really his castle, you know, but an hotel.
I thought it was the castle, though, when I first saw it standing up
gray and massive on an imposing hill. I supposed it had been restored,
and was rather disappointed to find it an hotel--though it's very jolly
to live in, with all the latest feudal improvements and fittings, and
King Arthur's Round Table in the enormous entrance-hall.

Sir Lionel wouldn't let Mrs. Senter laugh at me for thinking it the real
castle, but said it was a natural mistake for a girl who had spent all
her life in a French school--and how should I know the difference? I
_was_