ifully for to-morrow night.
I'm sure it's as good as ever, so you needn't buy me anything; many
thanks. And I'm so glad you spoke of the trunk. I'll have it brought up
here afterward. It's small and won't take up much room. There are lots
of things in it I can spare for our Belgian women."

"Very well, as you like," said Di. "That white velvet was quite nice,
and will be all right if it is not full of beggar's creases. You can
have the little trunk put on the luggage carrier of the car to-morrow
night when we send you back to Fitzjohn's Avenue. It will save the
trouble of getting Carter Paterson or some one else to call here for it.
And that reminds me: one of the things I wanted to say to you was this:
you were asking Bally if he had any old clothes to spare you for your
Belgian women's husbands. Well, Kitty has found a few, but there are a
whole heap of Sidney's things you can have if you want them. Masses of
luggage have just arrived from America: boxes of books and rugs, and
trunks full of clothing packed up and sent after him by his
soldier-servant when Sid definitely decided to resign and live over
here. All the clothes are a bit out of date now, or Sidney thinks so,
and there are some army things he never wants to see any more. Anyhow,
he has collected quantities of new clothes, and if you would like the
American things for your men proteges, you're welcome to them."

It went against the grain with me to accept even this favour from the
enemy; but I reflected hastily that I had no right to refuse what would
do good to others. After all, it was nothing to me, and Sidney could not
help realizing that, if he heard of the transaction. I thanked Di again,
and said I should be glad of anything she had to give, as the
destitution among the men of the Belgian refugees was as pitiful as
among the women. "We shall be thankful to get the collection out of the
house," answered Diana. "Sid's man unpacked the boxes and, of course,
was free to choose what he wanted for himself, but he's such a little
monkey, none of the clothes would fit him. I remembered you and your
poor people, which I _do_ think was rather sweet of me, as I have such
crowds of things to do every moment; so I told Sykes to spread the lot
out in that empty room we haven't furnished yet, directly over mine. I
mean to have it turned into a kind of 'den' for Sid, so the sooner we
can sweep away the boxes and mess generally, the better. Suppose you
look in after