I can't see myself able to forfeit a whole term's salary at any period of my career. So that's that! Of course I am not anxious to leave because of my innumerable friends among the boys: I am rather like a cat in some ways. If I had any sense I should take no notice of the Head, who really loathes me, and go. Three members of the staff are leaving. No one stays here long, and really I don't wonder. There seems very little point in cutting oneself right off from human life, or the chance of ever making any money or any good thing out of life. And yet I stay ... I am very like a cat. XII _December 31, 1912_ My form play was a great success on the last night of term: boys really are far better actors than grown-up people as a rule. They enter into the spirit of the part more quickly. I spent Christmas quietly at home, reading, overeating myself, writing letters, dispatching Christmas cards, attending a vast number of church services, visiting the cottagers, dancing in the village schoolroom, and gossiping with my father and mother. On the 27th I came down to Bath for the Christmas dances. That night, at the first one, I found to my intense disappointment that Ruth was unable at the last minute to come. That young ass Conyngham arrived just after me. I therefore dashed into the vestibule as quickly as I could to see if Elspeth Tetley was there. To my great joy she was, and alone, and (woman-like) as different as possible in her behaviour from last year. She smiled cordially as I bore down upon her. "H'lo, Mr. Traherne; it's a long time since we last saw you in Bath." "Yes, and the last time I saw you you cut me: you cut my dances, you cut me in the street--you----" "All right, don't get peevish: how many do you want to-night?" "None, if you're going to cut them all." "Come now, let's bury the hatchet; you'll have to hurry. I see half the earth waiting to wring your neck because you won't say what dances you want." "Well, how many are booked?" "I've only just come." "Yes, but that means nothing." "Well, tell me how many you want." "As many as you can jolly well let me have." "Here's my card, fill it up as you like." "Do you really mean that?" "I do: for goodness' sake hurry up. How many have you taken? Oh! stop, stop, you can't have them all." "Well, I've only taken eleven as yet." "Eleven! we shall set the whole of Bath talking." "Who cares?" "Oh! it's all jolly fine for you, but what about me, the poor defenceless maiden? Where's the little girl you usually dance with all night?" "Ruth? She's not coming." "Oh, that's why---- You must go--here's Mr. Conyngham and all the gang." "You'll really keep those eleven?" "Wait and see. Yes, yes, of course I will. Go away!"