“There,” said the proud hostess, mechanically laying folded hands upon the abdominal wall. “Simple, but tasty. I remember so well the firs’ time the Countess of ’Ampshire was ’ere. ‘Mrs. Root,’ she says, ‘people ’as an idea that we titleds must ’ave display. Completely wrong. Now, my bedroom at ’Assocks is jus’ like this—quiet, but distanggy.’” “It’s delightful,” said Ann, looking round. “I—I don’t feel strange at all.” “Couldn’ if you tried,” was the triumphant reply. “It’s so—so res’ful.” She sank on to a chair. “An’ now, me deer, make yourself at ’ome. This is your private room in ’Oliday ’Ouse.” “You’re very kind,” said Ann. “Don’ mention it.” The abrupt injunction was disconcerting. It was not meant, of course, to be obeyed. On the contrary. . . . After searching desperately for words with which to flout its blunt authority— “I—I wonder where Bob is,” faltered Ann. “If I could have my dressing-case . . .” “Now, don’t you go makin’ any toilet,” said Aunt Harriet. “We’ll be goin’ out presently. Not that I don’t like changin’,” she added hastily, “because I do. But Tom—my husban’s that slack. In course I’m afraid I’ve fell away, but there you are. Where’s the good of me makin’ meself tidy, when ’is idea of dressin’ is to take ’is collar orf?” She sighed heavily. “But there, there,” she added. “We all ’as our crorse to bear.” “Well, I’ll just wash my face and hands,” said Ann. “One gets so dirty in the train.” “Just as you please,” said her hostess. “I’m afraid it’s waste o’ time—the pier’s that filthy—but it’ll freshen you up.” She fought her way past the dressing-table and thrust her head out of the window. “Albert,” she yelled. “’Ullo,” rose the small boy’s voice. “Don’t say ’Ullo’ to me,” snapped Aunt Harriet. “Whatsay?” His great-aunt drew in her breath. “Where’s Bob?” she demanded. “Gone to ’ave a drink with the driver.” “Well, leave that there trunk an’ fetch up Lady Ann’s dressin’-case.” “Whatsay?” Albert’s inability to hear unwelcome tidings was a maddening complaint. His great-aunt looked volumes. “You ’eard well enough jus’ now,” she said in a shaking voice. “Bob tole me to wait ’ere.” “An’ I tell you to fetch up Lady Ann’s case.” “Whatsay?” Aunt Harriet left the window and erupted from the room. Albert put the road between himself and ‘Pier View.’ Ann took off her hat and flung herself face downward upon the bed. . . . “Why didn’t I think of all this? _God knows._ How can I possibly bear it? _I must._ What shall I do—do? _Nothing._” It occurred to Ann suddenly that it was all intensely funny. The comedy of the situation was rich. Albert—Aunt Harriet—Mr. Alcock alone would have brought down the house. Surely, her sense of humour . . . Somebody laughed—wildly.