part of forty minutes, while I went and played wineglass
skittles with the page-boy in the pantry; you play it with a
champagne cork, you know, and the one who knocks down the
most glasses without breaking them wins. I won, with four
unbroken out of seven; I think William suffered from over-
anxiousness. They were rather mad in the drawing-room at my
not having come back, and they weren't a bit pacified when I
told them afterwards that I was "At the end of the passage."

"I never did like Kipling," was Mrs. Babwold's comment, when
the situation dawned upon her. "I couldn't see anything
clever in Earthworms out of Tuscany--or is that by Darwin?"

Of course these games are very educational, but, personally,
I prefer bridge.

On Christmas evening we were supposed to be specially festive
in the Old English fashion. The hall was horribly draughty,
but it seemed to be the proper place to revel in, and it was
decorated with Japanese fans and Chinese lanterns, which gave
it a very Old English effect. A young lady with a
confidential voice favoured us with a long recitation about a
little girl who died or did something equally hackneyed, and
then the Major gave us a graphic account of a struggle he had
with a wounded bear. I privately wished that the bears would
win sometimes on these occasions; at least they wouldn't go
vapouring about it afterwards. Before we had time to recover
our spirits, we were indulged with some thought-reading by a
young man whom one knew instinctively had a good mother and
an indifferent tailor--the sort of young man who talks