The hair of Miss Selina Brooks was not abundant, and she added to it sundry tresses such as are described by fashion-papers as "graceful adjuncts." Edmund waited till the adjuncts were all in their proper place. Then he descended into his passage, shut the oak skylight, shut also the little gothic door leading to this undreamt-of paradise, retired to the bath-room to wash, lest Mrs. Dew should catch him again; and then, very quietly, went downstairs to the parlour, where, in the words of the French exercise, he sought "pens, ink and paper." Edmund did not possess the pen of a ready writer; it was some time before he drafted a letter to his liking, but in its final form the missive ran thus:— "DEAR MADDUM, "I think it only right to inform you that I can see you doing your hair, both what is on and what is off, and I find it very depressing. I therefore venture to suggest that a blind should be affixed without delay. It’s worse than ablushuns. "Yours truly, "EDMUND BETHUNE ESQRE." This Edmund folded and placed in an envelope, which he sealed with his great-grandfather’s seal. He then trotted across the road and dropped it into Miss Selina Brooks’ letter-box. Unlike Mr. Wycherly, Miss Brooks did not write to thank Edmund Bethune, Esqre. for his information; but that afternoon Nottingham lace curtains were put up at that top window, so closely drawn that not even a chink remained between them. When he beheld them Edmund smiled seraphically. *CHAPTER III* *THE PRINCESS* "Thro’ light and shadow thou dost range, Sudden glances, sweet and strange, Delicious spites and darling angers, And airy forms of flitting change." LORD TENNYSON. There were white curtains at the windows in all the front rooms now. Mr. Wycherly’s books were ranged on their appointed shelves and the packing cases removed to the attic. Mrs. Dew was admitted to the study with duster and broom, and it began to look home-like and habitable. Once more did Mr. Wycherly sit at his knee-hole table engaged in his great work upon the Nikomachean ethics. The family was settling down. "Will everybody come and see us now they know we’re here?" asked Edmund, who had invaded the study one afternoon just after luncheon. "I’m not at all sure that anyone will come and see us," Mr. Wycherly answered serenely. "Why should they?" "Oh, well, for friendliness. How are we to get to know people if they don’t come and see us? Shall we go and see them?" "Certainly not," Mr. Wycherly said hastily. "That would be pushing and impertinent." "But I like knowing folks," Edmund persisted. "I knew everybody at Burnhead." "Burnhead is a little village. Oxford is a big town, and in big towns people are too busy to concern themselves about newcomers." "Not Mrs. Methuen," Edmund argued. "She takes a great interest in us."