h. Roger and I have been here
for a week now, and Ninian joins us at the end of the month. He's down
at Boveyhayne at present, catching lobsters and sniffing the air, all of
which he says is very good for him and would be better for me. And you.
And Roger. There is a tablet on the front wall of the house, fixed by
the London County Council, which says that Lord Thingamabob used to live
here sometime in the eighteenth century. The landlord tried to raise the
rent on that account, but we said we were Socialists and would expect
the rent to be decreased because of the injury to our principles caused
by residence in a house that had been inhabited by a member of the
cursed, bloated and effete aristocracy. He begged our pardon and said
that in the circumstances, he wouldn't charge anything extra, but he had
us in the end, the mouldy worm, for he said that it was the custom to
make Socialists pay a quarter's rent in advance. The result was that
Roger had to stump up ... I couldn't for I was broke ... which made dear
little Roger awfully unpleasant to live with for a whole day. I offered
to go back and tell the man that we weren't Socialists at all, but
Improved Tories, but he said I'd done enough harm. It's a pity that old
Roger hasn't got a better sense of humour._

_We have chosen two rooms for you, one to work in, and the other to
sleep in. We're each to have two rooms, so that we can go and be morose
in comfort if we want to; but I daresay in the evenings we'll want to be
together. I've thought out a scheme of decoration for your room--all
pink rosebuds and stuff like that. Roger asked me not to be an ass when
I told him of it. His notion is a nice quiet distemper. Perhaps you'd
better see to the decoration yourself although I must say I always
thought your taste was perfectly damnable._

_By-the-way, there's a ghost in this house. It's supposed to be the
ghost of Lord Thingamabob, and I believe it is. I saw it myself three
nights ago, and it was as drunk as a fiddler. My God, Quinny, it's a
terrible thing to see an intoxicated spook. Roger wouldn't believe me
when I told him about it afterwards. He said I was drunk myself and that
he heard me tumbling up the stairs to bed. Which is a lie. I did see it,
and it was drunk. I heard it hiccough! I wouldn't say it was drunk if it
wasn't. De mortuis nil nisi bonum, Quinny, and it would be a very dirty
trick to slander a poor bogey that can't defend itself. It looked very
like