called a council upstairs. I told Belinda that if I wasn’t fed I should go, and I said that I shouldn’t be fed if she didn’t tell her staff that Ivan’s servants had as much right here as they. Finally things were arranged—in the only possible way. Henri was compensated and fired, and Dewlap was given his place. Belinda’s cook was appointed cook to the household, and Ivan’s housekeeper put in charge of the house. Since then peace has reigned—below stairs. It was also a step forward upon the ground floor, because it meant that we three must feed together. . . ._ _Our meals are a perfect scream. Belinda sits at one end of the table, Ivan at the other, and I sit in between. They both talk to me vivaciously, but such conversation as they use to each other is of the armoured type. The impression that I am the guest of a married couple who are upon their dignity is sometimes overwhelming. Ivan delights to enhance this. The other night he looked across at Belinda. ‘I don’t like these finger-bowls,’ he said. ‘Haven’t we got any other ones, dear?’ Belinda choked, and I began to laugh. Then—‘Aren’t these big enough?’ says my lady. ‘Too big,’ says Ivan. ‘I’m afraid of wetting my ears.’ Belinda fought not to smile. ‘Consult the inventory,’ she said. ‘Right,’ said Ivan. ‘What’s the French for “finger-bowls”?’ ‘Consult a dictionary,’ says Belinda. ‘I can’t,’ says Ivan. ‘I gave mine to Henri. His need was greater than mine.’ Belinda broke down at that, as was right and proper: but order was soon restored. They never meet except at meals, but never once so far has either had a meal out. Thus, under the guise of insisting upon their rights, they improve the opportunity of being together._ _Ivan keeps his end up and is thoroughly at home, but he never intrudes or oversteps the mark. After dinner we go to the drawing-room, and he retires to the library. Both rooms command the terrace, but if we sit outside Ivan never comes out. Of course he’s as much my host as Belinda’s my hostess, but he never lets me feel that. His attitude to me is that of a fellow-guest._ _To-day Belinda’s car was out of action. The first she or I knew of it was when we came down to go out and found Ivan’s Rolls at the door. Belinda stopped dead. Then she turned upon Dewlap. ‘I thought you said the car was here.’ The chauffeur intervened. ‘You’ve broken a spring, Miss. So Captain Pomeroy ’opes that you’ll use ’is car.’ Belinda began to flush, so I got in—quick. After a moment she followed me. ‘I couldn’t let you refuse,’ I said. ‘Ivan’s not the man to do this for gain.’ She just squeezed my fingers. ‘I hoped,’ she said, ‘I hoped you would force my hand.’ ‘I’ll remember that,’ said I. She blushed exquisitely._ _So, you see, the end is approaching._