The next three words were disposed of easily enough, a lucky question to Peter about the weather giving him an opportunity to refer to his straw hat. It was now Celia's turn for "breaks." "Nervous?" I asked her. "All of a twitter," she said. "Well, Celia," said our host, "how long are you going to stay with us?" "Oh, a long time yet," said Celia confidently. "Till Wednesday, anyhow," I interrupted, thinking it a good opportunity to clinch the matter. "We generally stay," explained Celia, "until our host breaks it to us that he can't stick us any longer." "Not that that often happens," I added. "Look here, which of you is answering the question?" "I am," said Celia firmly. "Well, have you answered it yet?" "To tell the truth I've quite forgotten the word that--Oh, I remember now. Yes," she went on very distinctly and slowly, "I hope to remain under your roof until next Wednesday morn. Whew!" and she fanned herself with her handkerchief. Mrs. Herbert repeated her husband's triumph with "the," and then it was my turn again for these horrible camels. My only hope was that our host would ask me if I had been to the Zoo lately, but I didn't see why he should. He didn't. "Would it surprise you to hear," he asked, "that the President of Czecho-Slovakia has a very long beard?" "If it had only been 'goats,'" I murmured to myself. Aloud I said, "What?" in the hope of gaining a little more time. He repeated his question. "No," I said slowly, "no, it wouldn't," and I telegraphed an appeal to Celia for help. She nodded back at me. "Have you finished?" asked our host. "Good Lord, no, I shall be half an hour yet. The fact is you've asked the wrong question. You see, I've got to get in 'moss.'" "I thought it was 'camels,'" said Celia carelessly. "No, 'moss.' Now if you'd only asked me a question about gardening--You see, the proverb we wanted to have first of all was 'People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones,' only 'throw' was so difficult. Almost as difficult as--" I turned to Celia. "What was it you said just now? Oh yes, camels. Or stable doors, or frying-pans. However, there it is." And I enlarged a little more on the difficulty of getting in these difficult words. "Thank you very much," said our host faintly when I had finished. It was the last straw which broke the camel's back, and it was Herbert who stepped forward blithely with the last straw. Our host, as he admitted afterwards, was still quite in the dark, and with his last question he presented Herbert with an absolute gift. "When do you go back to Devonshire?" he asked. "We--er--return next month," answered Herbert. "I should say," he added hastily, "we go _back_ next month." My own private opinion was that the sooner he returned to Devonshire the better. DISILLUSIONED