,
but are probably Countesses. I gaze at them haughtily, and try to appear
prosperous. I hope they think my mother, the Duchess, is taking a nap in
our magnificent suite upstairs, while I write a letter to my godfather,
the Prince, to thank him for his birthday gift of a rope of pearls which
reaches to my knees.

6.15.--The landlady has just been sympathizing with me. She says there
is a night train to Bideford. I have poured cold water upon the night
train to Bideford, and came near pouring some hot tears on the timetable
she kindly brought me.

6.25.--People are going up to dress for dinner. They are God's
creatures, but I do not love them.

6.40.--The head-waiter has just fluttered up to ask if I would like a
smaller table for dinner. No table would be too small for my appetite. I
said----

7.10.--Darling, Sir Lionel has come back for me, alone, dripping wet,
and it was all a mistake, and he did want me, and he's furious with
everybody in the world except me, to whom he is perfectly adorable. And
I'm afraid I adore him. And we're starting at once, when we've had a
sandwich and coffee--can't wait for dinner. Everything is _too_ nice.
I'll explain as soon as I've time to write.

Your Radiant Transformation Scene,

A. B.

XXIV

AUDRIE BRENDON TO HER MOTHER

_The Luttrell Arms, Dunster_,
_Aug. 18th_

Duck of the Universe: Five days since I wrote, and it seems
five minutes. But I did telegraph--with my last shilling; and even that
would be rightfully Ellaline's, if the labourer weren't worthy of his
hire.

You see, after the letter I had from her in Torquay, when she wanted
money to go to Scotland with her new friends, the McNamaras, I very
reluctantly screwed my courage to the asking point, and got more out of
Sir Lionel. If he weren't the most generous man in the world he would
have privately dubbed me "Oliver Twist" by this time. Perhaps he has!
But I trust not. Anyhow, I shall get on without more requests, I hope,
until the next "allowance" day comes round; or until every pin is lost
and every hairpin has dropped out.

Because in the telegram I was forced to be economical, and ran only to
"All well. Love" ("much" scratched out as an extravagance), I must now
go back to the moment of Sir Lionel's unexpected, almost miraculous,
appearance at Tintagel.

There I was in the hall, scribbling dolefully about my symptoms. "Teuf,
teuf, teuf!" heard outside, between screeches of wind. In bounces Sir