"I've been playing in the sand too. I suppose, Betty, you know nearly everybody in the hotel?" "Oh, I play with them all sometimes." "Yes; then tell me, Betty, do you ever get asked what time you go to bed?" "They ALL ask me that," said Betty promptly. "I think I should like to ask you too," I said, "just to be in the movement. When is it?" "Half-past six." She looked at the clock. "So we've got half an hour. I'll get my ball." Before I had time to do anything about it, the ball came bouncing in, hit me on the side of the head, and hurried off to hide itself under an old lady dozing in the corner. Betty followed more sedately. "Where's my ball?" she asked. "Has it come in?" I said in surprise. "Then it must have gone out again. It noticed you weren't here." "I believe you've got it." "I swear I haven't, Betty. I think the lady in the corner knows something about it." Betty rushed across to her and began to crawl under her chair. I nervously rehearsed a few sentences to myself. "It is not my child, madam. I found it here. Surely you can see that there is no likeness between us? If we keep quite still perhaps it will go away." "I've got it," cried Betty, and the old lady woke up with a jerk. "What are you doing, child?" she said crossly. "Your little girl, madam," I began--but Betty's ball bit me on the head again before I could develop my theme. "Your little girl, sir," began the old lady at the same moment. "I said it first," I murmured. "Betty," I went on aloud, "what is your name, my child?" "You've just said it." "I mean," I corrected myself quickly, "where do you live?" "Kensington." I looked triumphantly at the old lady. Surely a father wouldn't need to ask his own child where she lived? However, the old lady was asleep again. I turned to Betty. "We shall have to play this game more quietly," I said. "In fact, we had better make some new rules. Instead of hitting me on the head each time, you can roll the ball gently along the floor to me, and I shall roll it gently back to you. And the one who misses it first goes to bed." I gave her an easy one to start with, wishing to work up naturally to the denouement, and she gave me a very difficult one back, not quite understanding the object of the game. "You've got to go to bed," she cried, clapping her hands. "You've got--to go--to bed. You've got--to go--to bed. You've--" "All right," I said coldly. "Don't make a song about it." It was ten minutes past six. I generally go to bed at eleven-thirty. It would be the longest night I had had for years. I sighed and prepared to go. "You needn't go till half-past," said Betty kindly. "No, no," I said firmly. "Rules are rules." I had just remembered that there was nothing in the rules about not getting up again. "Then I'll come with you and see your room." "No, you mustn't do that; you'd fall out of the window. It's a very tricky window. I'm always falling out of it myself."