"In that case, sir," she said, "if you're seeing Mr Rose perhaps you'd give him this. I suppose it's his. I found it in his room." She put into my hand a small book covered with shiny black cloth. I opened it to see what it was. A single glance told me. It was Derwent Rose's diary. PART V THE PIVOT I "George, you haven't brought your Beautiful Bear round to see me yet," said Madge Aird. And I jumped a little as she added, "By the way, does he happen to have a brother?" "No. At least I never heard of one. Why?" "I wondered. I've seen somebody most remarkably like him, only younger. In this neighbourhood too. I thought Nature made him and then lost the recipe, or whatever the saying is." I assumed a lightness I hardly felt. "Did you 'fall for' this other paragon as you did for Mr Rose?" She laughed. "Oh, I don't know. I dare say beauty of that sort would be ill to live with. Better a dinner of herbs all to yourself than a stalled ox every woman you knew would be running after. Or words to that effect. So you and Alec needn't be too downhearted. But really he was most astonishingly like. Where does Mr Rose live?" "Mr Rose is at present abroad." "Oh, I don't mean that it was he! I couldn't make a mistake like that--I'd far too good a look at him the other time, the dazzling creature! But you might find out if the family's seriously addicted to monogamy, unless he turns out to have a brother after all. Well, when are you coming to see us? Better hurry, as we're off very soon." "Where are you going?" "Dinard. The three of us. Johnnie's taken a villa. Have you settled what you're going to do yet?" "Not yet." "Then why not come over to us for a few weeks? When you get tired of me, Jennie's getting most take-about-able. She's seventeen. And--George----" "Yes?" "When a woman tells you she's got a daughter of seventeen there are quite a number of pretty things to be said----" We continued to talk and walk aimlessly side by side. I had met her in Queen's Gate, and I intended to retrace my steps to Queen's Gate the moment I had got rid of her. She chattered on. "And by the way, has Hastings mentioned Mr Rose to you lately?" "No. Why?" I said. Hastings is my literary agent, the man beside whose labours on my behalf my own seem puny. "Because I've got a feeling that this creature of all the talents really is coming off this time," she went on. "Hastings has found a publisher who's going to see that Derwent Rose is 'It' or die in the attempt. So if you want to do the Bear a good turn send him to Hastings. When is he coming back?" "I don't quite know." "Well, there's no immediate hurry. Everybody'll be away in another week or two. But it _would_ be rather joysome to see Derwent Rose at last where he really belongs! Well, think about Dinard. Any time you like. 'Bye----" And with a wave of her hand she was off.