"Telegraph, and put the contents down to my account." I noticed now that DOLLY had a pile of papers on her table, and that she was playing with a blue pencil. "Yes, Lady MICKLEHAM," I said, in the provisional way in which judges indicate to counsel that they are ready to proceed. "Well, I've been reading some of the Press Notices of the Dialogues, Mr. CARTER." I trembled. I remembered some of the things that had been said about DOLLY and myself, which hardly lent themselves, it appeared to me, to this third party procedure. "I thought," pursued DOLLY, "we might spend the time in discussing the critics." "I shall be delighted, if in doing that we shall dismiss the reporter." "Have you seen this? It's from a Scotch paper--Scottish? you suggest--well, Scottish. 'The sketches are both lively and elegant, and their lightness is just what people want in the warm weather.'" "It's a satisfaction to think that even our little breezes are a source of cool comfort to our fellow-creatures." "Here's another criticism. 'It's a book which tempts the reader----'" "It must have been something you said." "'----a book which tempts the reader to peruse from end to end when once he picks it up.'" "'Read at a Sitting: A Study in Colour.'" "Please, Mr. BROWN, don't take that down." "Thank you, Lady MICKLEHAM," said I. "_Litera scripta manet._" "You are not the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Mr. CARTER, and you must break yourself of the habit." "The next cutting?" "The next says, 'For Mr. CARTER, the hero or reporter----'" "It's a calumny. I don't know a single shorthand symbol." "Let me go on. 'Reporter of these polite conversations, we confess we have no particular liking.'" "If you assure me you did not write this yourself, Lady MICKLEHAM, I care not who did." "That, Mr. BROWN," said DOLLY, in a most becoming frown, "must _on no account_ go down." "When you have finished intimidating the Press, perhaps you will finish the extract." "'His cynicism,'" she read, "'is too strained to commend him to ordinary mortals----'" "No one would ever accuse you of being in that category." "'----but his wit is undeniable, and his impudence delicious.' Well, Mr. CARTER?" "I should like the extract concluded." I knew the next sentence commenced--"As for DOLLY, Lady MICKLEHAM, she outdoes all the revolted daughters of feminine fiction." Then an annoying thing happened. ARCHIE'S voice was heard, saying, "DOLLY, haven't you finished that Dialogue yet? We ought to dress for dinner. It'll take us an hour to drive there." So it had been all arranged, and ARCHIE knew for what I had been summoned. Yet there are compensations. DOLLY sent the Dialogue to the only paper which I happen to edit. I regretfully declined it. But the fact that she sent it may possibly explain why I have found it so easy to give this account of what happened on that afternoon when I sent the two telegrams. * * * * * The Cry of Chaos.