opponent, "what _is_ a jollymouse or whatever you call it?"

"A zholimoose, my dear," the Doctor began, "is very hard to describe and
has to be seen to be believed. A War Babe would probably not recognise one
if he saw it. To give you a rough idea, however, it is an airy Will-o'-the-
wispish----"

The bell had done its work at last, and there suddenly entered by an inner
door a fair-haired, fair-skinned French girl almost too pretty to be real.
The Doctor paused with his eyes on her and then his face lit up with
triumph.

"Gentlemen," he said, in a low vibrating tone, "behold the zholimoose.
Hush. It will probably come closer if you don't frighten it."

"Have you got the landing-net?" whispered James hoarsely.

"Yes. And the killing bottle. It's this War Babe I'm afraid of. He's sure
to scare it. Don't glare at her like that, War Babe. Pretend you're a
soap-box."

She hovered on the threshold. It seemed touch and go... and then the War
Babe broke the ice in his choicest French.

"Mademoiselle!"

"Messieurs!" She came daintily forward and looked inquiries at us all.

"Tay avec--er bread-and-butter, si-vooplay," the Doctor ground out in his
execrable lingo. "And--er--I never can remember the French for milk."