_I am, Sir,_ _Yours, etc._ _JAMES TORRIDGE BLATCHBOURNE._ Titus laid down the letter and looked down his nose. “Gathering clouds,” he said thoughtfully. “An’ this is as hot a one as we’ve ever had. If Blanche but knew . . .” He drew out a little note-book and blinked over a page. “Seventy thousand to date,” he continued musingly. “I’d like to get to a hundred before the crash, but ninety would do. . . .” Presently he closed the note-book and took up a pen. After a little reflection he wrote his reply. _68, Old Bond Street._ _November 15th._ _SIR,_ _I have the honour to acknowledge your letter of yesterday’s date and to express regret that you do not share my views of quality or style._ _I am, Sir,_ _Your obedient servant,_ _TITUS CHEVIOT._ _J.T. Blatchbourne, Esq._ As he blotted the words— “I’ll bet he doesn’t hand that about,” he muttered. Then he copied his letter on to the back of Mr. Blatchbourne’s and restored the latter to its drawer. When he had prepared an envelope and covered his reply he lighted a cigarette and left the shop. * * * * * Mrs. Cheviot had had a most gorgeous time. Never had idleness seemed so full of spice. Her fortnight in Paris had grown into three fat weeks of merry-making. Parties, dances and plays had all contributed to the delicious orgy, but by far the handsomest contribution had been made by fashion parades. Indeed, with Madge Willoughby to pace her upon the track of models, Blanche had broken all her records of extravagance. When she rolled out of the gay capital in her luxurious car bound for Boulogne she had expended upon clothes alone very nearly six thousand pounds. The prospect of returning to work was none too engaging. But while she loathed the thought of working ten hours a day, the reflection that Mrs. Willoughby had been left standing went far to cure her melancholy. Indeed, by the time she had crossed the Channel and was sliding through Kent she had come to the conclusion that Titus was right and that ‘not to see the boom out would be the act of a fool.’ Then a lorry came out of a by-road at thirty-five and knocked her limousine into a quickset hedge. . . . By the time assistance arrived Blanche, who had recovered her wits, was able not only to direct her extrication, but to resist all endeavours to convey her to hospital.