The house needs very little doing up, but I should like it distempered throughout, and ’Uncle John’ says that the alterations I want in ’the domestic offices’ can be quite easily managed. Even now I can’t describe it. I have a confused impression of beams and panelling, diamond-leaded windows with wreaths of creeper, but, ah, wait till I have filled the sweet old rooms with flowers and oak and firelight and comfy chairs and books and cushions—how Michael will love it—I am intrigued at the prospect of living in Gidger’s gorgeous cottage, I shall be so disappointed if the ’black beast’ won’t buy it. Charlie Foxhill is home on leave and wired to-day, while I was out, to know if we could give him dinner and a bed to-night. Ross telegraphed to say ’No, but we can give you an apology for the one and a series of lumps for the other.’ So dear old Charlie duly arrived—beaming. It’s so nice to see all one’s pals. He is as amusing as ever, and has the same quaint diffidence, and bubbles over with jokes and absurdities. We asked after his mother. ’Oh, still steeped in saints,’ he answered, sighing. After dinner he started holding on to the mantel-piece with both hands and bending first one knee and then the other. Ross inquired, with his beautiful natural courtesy, if he were endeavouring to qualify for entrance into the County Asylum, and then Charlie gave one of those absurd answers that veil his real meaning. ’Oh, no, my dear chap, but I’m going to try my luck with Monica next week. I want to talk intelligently to her father, so I’ve mugged up patent manures and the lost ten tribes till I’m blue in the face, and am not perfectly clear now whether it’s the fertiliser or the tribes that’s got mislaid. As they have family prayers and my knees do crack so abominably, I’m trying to get them a bit looser. It might prejudice my chances if they think I ain’t used to kneeling down. What.’ ’Well, you aren’t, are you?’ asked my brother. ’Well, no,’ said Charlie, ’to be perfectly candid, I’m not—I get too much of it at home.’ ’Which is the particular pill you never can swallow?’ asked Ross. ’Virgin birth,’ said Charlie. ’I think He was quite a good man, but I’m not prepared to say He was divine.’ ’Are you prepared to say He was a humbug and the bastard son of Mary, then?’ demanded Ross. ’No, not that either, quite,’ said Charlie. ’Well, He must be one or the other, for there’s nothing in between,’ remarked my brother. ’Here, chuck over the cigarettes,’ and the conversation changed rather hurriedly to Germans. This morning when Charlie saw the Gidger he swore that Monica was _not_ his fate. (I wonder if Michael would think him a suitable person on whom to bestow his daughter’s hand in marriage as Charlie wants to wait for her.) But before he went to the station, and I was alone with him for a little while, he let me see his soul for just a moment. I had wished him luck with Monica in the flippant way one does, when he said,—