But that was not the end of it. If you can believe it, they were on the roof again within an hour, getting themselves and their megaphone photographed, for the fight for freedom would not be half so sweet without the publicity of portraits in the press. And we were besieged with letters. One Suffragette wrote that an apology was due,--yes, J. replied, due to him. A second lectured him on the offence given to her "dear friend, the Duchess," for to become a Suffragette is not to cease to be a snob, and warned him that the Duchess--who was the golden-haired lady and may have had the bluest blood of England in her veins, but who looked more like one of the Gaiety girls, from whom the stock of the British nobility has been so largely replenished--and the Duke intended to consult their Solicitor if regret were not expressed. And the Landlord's Agent called, and the Landlord's Solicitor followed, and a Police Inspector was sent from Scotland Yard for facts,--and he reprimanded J. for one mistake, for not having locked the door on the inside when they were out,--and the insurance people wanted to know about the fire-balloons, and everybody with any possible excuse came down upon us, except the police officer with the warrant to arrest J. for assault and battery. It is all over now. If the Suffragettes still hatch their plots under our roof, they are denied the use of it for carrying them out. They leave us in peace for the moment, the quiet which is the charm of an old house like ours has returned to it, and outwardly the tenants cultivate the repose and dignity incumbent upon them as the descendants of Bacon and Pepys and the inheritors of a great past. _The Quarter_ [Illustration: OPPOSITE TO SURREY] X THE QUARTER My windows command the Quarter, and what they do not overlook, Augustine does.