ooks an intrigue, I sent a note to Ellaline's room, just after
she had gone to bed, asking if she were "sporting enough" to come for a
walk at seven-thirty. I thought that way of putting the invitation would
fetch her, and it did; but perhaps a card I enclosed had something to do
with her prompt acceptance. I printed, in my best imitation of engraved
text, "Mr. and Mrs. Swan and the Misses Cygnet, At Home, In the Moat,
Bishop's Palace. Ring for Refreshments. R.S.V.P."

Five minutes later came down a scrap of paper (all she had, no doubt)
with a little pencil scrawl, saying that Miss Lethbridge was delighted
to accept Mr. and Mrs. Swan's kind invitation for seven-thirty, and
thanked Sir Lionel Pendragon for obtaining it. I have put this away with
my treasures, of course.

I was at the place appointed before the time, and she didn't keep me
waiting. As a matter of fact, she's always extraordinarily prompt.
Modern school training, I suppose, as Ellaline the First was never known
to be in time for anything. And the swans were worth getting up for.
They are magnificent creatures; but, unlike many professional beauties,
they're as clever as they are handsome. For generations they and their
ancestors have been trained to ring a bell when they breakfast; and to
see the whole family, mother, babies, and cousins, breasting the clear,
lilied water, and waiting in a dignified, not too eager, row while
father pulls a bell in the old palace wall, tweaking the string
impatiently with his beak, is better than any theatrical performance of
this season in London.

Ellaline was entranced, and would have the play played over and over
again by the swan actors and the stage manageress, a kindly and polite
woman who conducted the entertainment. When we were both ashamed to beg
for more, Ellaline suggested a walk round the town, which is of an
unspoiled beauty, and you can guess whether or no I was glad to be her
guide. I'm certain I should have proposed before breakfast (I wonder if
any other man was ever in love enough for that?) if Dick Burden and his
aunt hadn't turned a corner at the critical moment. But perhaps it was
just as well. In spite of what you say, I am certain she would have
refused me.

Nevertheless, for your encouragement, my dear old Pat, I am

Yours ever gratefully,

Pen.

XXVI

MRS. SENTER TO HER SISTER, MRS. BURDEN

_Empire Hotel, Bath_,
_August Without End, Amen!_

My Dear Sis: Talk about a land whe