[ILLUSTRATION ECHO OF "SHOW SUNDAY."

_VISITOR_. "WHAT'S THIS FELLOW DOIN' IN THE CORNER?"

_ARTIST_. "OH, HE'S THERE JUST TO HELP THE COMPOSITION."

_VISITOR_. "AWFULLY DECENT OF HIM--WHAT!"]


THE DOMESTIC QUESTION SOLVED.

LAST THURSDAY, AT A REGISTRY-OFFICE, I OBTAINED THE FAVOUR OF AN
INTERVIEW WITH A DOMESTIC ARTIST AND WAS ABLE (BY REASON OF A PREVIOUS
CONFERENCE WITH MY FRIEND FRESHFIELD--LIKE MYSELF A DEMOBILISED
BACHELOR AUTHOR) TO FACE THE ORDEAL WITH SOME DEGREE OF CONFIDENCE.

MRS. MILTON, WIDOW, FIFTY-FIVE, EXCEPTIONAL REFERENCES, WHO PROPOSED,
IF EVERYTHING ABOUT ME SEEMED SATISFACTORY, TO RULE MY HOUSEHOLD,
WAS AS SUAVE AS ONE HAS ANY RIGHT TO EXPECT NOWADAYS; BUT WHEN SHE
DICTATED THE TERMS I GATHERED THAT SHE WOULD BE SUFFICIENTLY DANGEROUS
IF ROUSED.

SHE KNEW WHAT BACHELORS WERE, SHE DID, AND WASN'T GOING TO TAKE A
PLACE WHERE A LOT OF COMP'NY WAS KEPT.

I ASSURED HER ON THIS POINT. MY FRIEND, MR. FRESHFIELD, I SAID, WOULD
COME ONCE A WEEK, EVERY MONDAY, TO DINE AND SLEEP, BUT BEYOND THAT I
SHOULD PUT NO STRAIN UPON HER POWERS OF ENTERTAINMENT.