_And now I must fly down to dinner. I wouldn’t be late for worlds._ _Your loving sister,_ _JANE._ _P.S.—I said the end was approaching._ _After dinner we sat on the terrace—a perfect night. Presently I called Ivan. He appeared at the window, pipe in hand. ‘Why don’t you come and sit here?’ I said. ‘It’s wicked to stay indoors.’ ‘D’you think so?’ he said, hesitating. ‘I’m sure of it,’ said I. ‘Of course, if you’d rather read . . .’ He came out and sat down. He and I talked for a while, and then Belinda joined in. By ten o’clock the tambourine was rolling. When we got up to go to bed, Belinda gave Ivan her hand. ‘It was very nice of you to lend me your car,’ she said. Ivan bowed. ‘It was very nice of you to use it,’ he said gently. I tried to escape, but Belinda caught me up. Still, the last act has begun._ _J._ Lady Cherubic was right. As a matter of fact she accelerated the _dénouement_ by setting her foot firmly on the pedal of opportunity and pressing it right down. In a word, on the very next evening the three had not been together for a quarter of an hour when she rose and announced her intention of retiring to take a short nap. With that, she walked into the library. After a moment Ivan, who had risen also, resumed his seat and put his pipe back in his mouth. “I—I hope she’s all right,” said Belinda presently. “D’you think I should go and see?” Ivan shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he said. There was a silence. “I think I’d better,” said Belinda. “I—I shouldn’t,” said Ivan uneasily. “Er, supposing you woke her.” Belinda flitted across the pavement and stole into the room. . . . Her back towards the window, her shoes in her hand, Lady Cherubic was in the act of stealthily opening the door. Belinda sank to her knees behind a bureau. When the door had closed, she rose and turned to the terrace. . . . As she sank into her chair— “All right?” queried Ivan. Belinda nodded. The night was marvellous. The moon sailed in the heaven, a clean-cut stoup of glory upon a violet field. Far on the left Spain sloped to the ocean with the crouch of a drinking beast. To the right a lazy school of surf marched out of vision. A fitful breeze played with the sweet-smelling air as a kitten will play with a fringe. Belinda sighed. “The worst of a place like this,” she said slowly, “is that it always seems such a shame to go away.” Ivan’s heart stood still. “I—I hope you aren’t going,” he stammered. “I must on Thursday,” said Belinda, twisting her pretty hands. “Lady Cherubic’s sister is beginning to stamp, and I can’t presume upon her kindness.” “I won’t hear of your leaving,” blurted Ivan. “Of course, I shall go to an hotel.” Belinda shook her head.