A little quieter, just to, as it were, regain consciousness, for everything is becoming blurred--(jerky sentences while dancing) ... "It's more difficult ... to steer when ... there are a few ... than when ..." "Yes," says Miss Bella, who quite understands. (_Myself tenderly._) "Do you ... like dancing?" ... "Yes," ... (_whirl round, up and down_ ... then) ... "This dance?" ... What? ... (_whirl round just to get the steam up again for the question, and put it sotto voce, finding myself close to her ear--such a pretty little ear--made to be whispered into_). "Do you like this dance?" ... "Very much." (_My heart is fluttering nervously, like a stray bird under a skylight_) ... "With anyone?" ... (_No answer ... My question means do you prefer ME to dance with, and not only to dance with, but ..._) The music ceases. Medford is tired. We all thank him. Gong. Luncheon. If it hadn't been for the gong ... But at all events the wet morning is over. [Illustration: "HOW DO YOU LIKE MY FIZZ"] CHAPTER XI. A NIGHT SURPRISE. Boodels and Milburd knock at my door at 2.30 a.m., after I've been asleep two hours, and wake me up to tell me that they had thought of a Pleasure of Poverty: it was, Milburd said, _To think that you can't be worse off, while you hope that others may._ I say .. "_Oh_ ... don't bother--I mean--yes--capital ... go to ... bed," and turning round, try to sleep again. The Deputation thanks me and withdraws. "What an idiotic thing to do," I say to myself .... "What a foolish thing" .... getting more wakeful ... "What a cruel thing .... Hang it! it's positively selfish ... it's" ... turning for the fifth time, and my pillow becoming as hot as a blister ... "Confound Boodels ... and Milburd ... it's all _his_ doing, I know" ... sitting up in bed. It occurs to me that counting one hundred and forty backwards, and then getting out and drinking a glass of water, is a capital way of inducing sleep ... Odd, but in Milburd and Boodels coming to rouse me at this time, I find _a_ solution to the other question that we had occupied part of our morning in discussing. What circumstance justifies loss of patience? Why, loss of sleep. [Illustration: SOFT REPOSE.] CHAPTER XII. OUR LIBRARY--BUSTS--DISTINGUISHED CHARACTERS--MELANCHOLY--GUESSES-- SOAMES--MRS. BOODELS AGAIN--MILBURD--HIS JOKE--A NUISANCE. Of all the melancholy objects of Art Busts are the most so. Do you want a sensation of Miserable Melancholy? Take, yourself---- Off to a dusty library of bookshelves, chiefly empty, and the remainder having an occasional medical treatise in the original Latin, with diagrams of the human frame, no fire, rain pouring, damp mist over the landscape, no pens, ink, or even paper to tear up into fanciful shapes, and nothing for company except busts of celebrated people, looking like the upper part of the ghosts of half-washed chimney-sweepers.