SIR,—_My Emma in my absence let you rooms at terms unsatisfactory to myself. Mrs. Montmorency is a lady who does not take in lodgers without good credenshalls. This is not to in any way say that your credenshalls may not be all right, but as I have no knowledge of you she feels the let is not satisfactorily. It would be necessary under such a state as yours for payment to be made for the whole time of three weeks in advance. As it is not likely under your present state you could do this or be able she feels obliged to ask you to go elsewhere without trying to be impolite._ _I beg to remain_, _Yours faithfully,_ MRS. B. MONTMORENCY. Mornice had brought Ronald in to lunch, and this letter was handed to Eliphalet simultaneously with the apple-tart. He frowned a little as he read it, and remarking “Extraordinary woman!” handed it to Mornice. “Oh, it’s sweet!” cried Mornice. “Read it, Pyjams.” Then to Emma, “Do ask her to come in.” Emma had been schooled in what to say should this request be made. Her manner of putting it was: “She’s in bed. Bit funny to-day! You know what I mean.” “I will reply later,” said Eliphalet. When Emma had left the room, he picked up the thread of the former conversation—his familiar views upon the degradation of acting for the Cinema. “Yet, sir,” said Ronald, who had listened very politely, “I am sure Miss Mornice June would have a great future in the film. My father agrees with me.” “There is no future for the film, my boy,” corrected Eliphalet. “Now, for the stage——” Ronald Knight agreed heartily that the art of the stage ranked on a far higher plane, and expressed his own very proper ambitions in this direction. On the whole, Eliphalet was pleased with the young man, and lost his sense of jealousy when Mornice “Ronnied” and “Spuddied” him. After he had gone and Eliphalet had replied for about the nineteenth time, “Certainly he is a very agreeable young fellow,” he turned to the matter of the letter again. “It is very curious,” he said, after reading it a second time, “but there is something familiar about the composition and handwriting of this note.” “Now you say so, it strikes me too,” said Mornice. He laughed. “Then I am sure it is merely imagination on my part. But that is unimportant. This is very offensive, and I am seriously disposed to ask for the bill and go.” Mornice dissuaded him. Emma made her laugh, she said, and her bed was a dream without lumps. Probably the poor thing was hard up, and it was just a try on to get money in advance. “Well, if that is so, and you are satisfied, there is no reason why she should not have it.” Accordingly he sat down and wrote: MADAME,—_I am in receipt of your letter and hasten to applaud the spirit of caution that inspired it._