rue that doves seldom marry canaries, nor do the latter
drink ginger beer to any considerable extent. But George will not notice
these discrepancies. He is not hypercritical."

Two days later I heard from Grace again.

Dear Edwin,--Thank you so much for the verses, though perhaps they are a
little--well, a little outspoken, aren't they? Unfortunately, Mary's
friend is not named George or Harris. He is not even English, but a very
nice dark brown man from Asia, a Hindu, I think, and only _trying_ to be
a doctor at present. As soon as he is one he is going back again. I
ought to have told you this before, as I feel it might have helped you.
But thanks very much all the same.

Yours affectionately,

Grace."

When I showed this to Jones he expressed his chagrin with a freedom and
resource surprising even in a Civil Servant; but, having put our hands
to the plough, we felt we could hardly leave Mary Smith in the cart. So
we set to again, and I posted the following poem to Grace:--

FAREWELL.

Though, O budding Inter-M.B.,
You may now perchance pro tem. be
Not indifferent to a simple English maid,
Soon the daughters dark and dingy
Of the land of Ranjitsinhji,
Will be throwing her completely in the shade.

And shall Mary thus be stranded,
When she had you almost landed
(Yes, the metaphors are mixed, but never mind)?
Oh, imagine her emotion
When the cruel Indian Ocean
Separates you from the girl you left behind.

It was nearly a week before I heard from Grace. Then she wrote:--

"Dear Edwin,--It was really _too_ sweet of you to send the second set.
We have discovered, however, that Mary's friend is a Parsee, and
therefore a worshipper of the sun, and she thinks the last line in the
first verse would offend his family's religious scruples. She fears,
too, that he might not endorse the epithet 'dingy' as applied by you to
his female compatriots. So we have decided not to write in his album. I
think however that the first poem (with modifications) would do for the
album of a friend of my own, whose name, as it happens, _is_ George. So
I have asked the vicar to tone it down for me. He is a Durham man. Do
you mind?

Yours affectionately,

Grace."

I read her letter, and breathed a deep sigh. Then seizing a telegraph
form, I wired: "Have no objection to Durham vicars. Am ordering
salt-cellars. Do not write again. Edwin."

* * * * *

ANOTHE