I have just answered Trix's brief note. Here I wrote just as I should have spoken: 'I'm sure you'll be so happy, dear,' above my breath; 'why, in Heaven's name, does she do it?' under the same. Trix was curt. She marries 'Airey Newton, the well-known inventor'! Little Peggy was rather more communicative; but Peggy is an enthusiast, and (politics apart) I see no use for the quality. 'The well-known inventor'! I never heard of the man. _Ça n'empêche pas_, by all means. Shall we say 'Like to like'? Trix was rather a well-known inventor in her day and season--which is the one from which we are all precariously recovering. (How's the marital liver?) I wonder if we've got to say 'Like to like' in any other way, Sarah? You are no philosopher. You abound in general rules, but haven't a shred of principle. I will instruct you in my old way. But first I must tell you that Audrey is positively improving. She coquetted the other night! The floor creaked, as it seemed to me, but it bore well; and she did it. The Trans-Euphratic is, as you are aware, active even in the dead season. I fancy the Trans-Euphratic helps Audrey. There are similarities, most especially in a certain slowness in getting under way. The Trans-Euphratic is going to get there. An American engineer who came down to Barslett the other day, and said he had always dreamed of such a place (he was sallow and thin), told me so. Audrey's going to get there too. Now isn't she? Don't say it's labour wasted! I digress. Listen, then:-- _Lord B._: Do you--er--know a Mr. Airey Newton--Newton, Viola? _Myself_: Very slightly. Oh, you're thinking of----? _Lord B._: I saw it in the daily paper. (He means the 'Times'--he doesn't know of any others.) _Myself_ (_hedging_): Curious, isn't it? _Lord B._: It will possibly prove very suitable--possibly. As we grow old we learn to accept things, Viola. _Myself_ (_looking young_): I suppose we do, Lord B. _Lord B._: For my own part, I hope she will be happy. _Myself_ (_murmuring_): You're always so generous! _Lord B._ (_clearing his throat_): I am happy to think that Mortimer has recovered his balance--balance, Viola. _Myself_: He'd be nothing without it, would he, Lord B.? (This needed careful delivery, but it went all right.) _Lord B._ (_appreciative_): You're perfectly correct, Viola. (_Pause._) Should you be writing to Mrs. Trevalla, express my sincere wishes for her happiness. Now, considering that Trix knocked him down, isn't he an old dear of a gentleman?