DEAR AUNT VERENA,—I met Haven by chance the other morning and heard of your accident. I am more than sorry, but I think I have a means both of helping you to pass some of the weary time and also, if you are so disposed, of making good use of some of your superfluous income, of which I have so often written to you. It is monstrous, especially now, when the world is trying to recover from the paralysis of the War, that there should be any dormant bank balances, and, except for medical attendance and nursing, you will, I imagine, be spending less than usual. To be brief, I have now perfected a piece of household furniture which cannot fail to make its way if it is set properly on the market. This is a combination clothes-horse, screen, step-ladder and holder for what the French, who can be so clever with names, call a _serviette sans fin_; surely a more picturesque phrase than “circular towel.” My invention is intended primarily for the kitchen, but, being on casters, it can easily be moved elsewhere. I feel sure that never before can one and the same article have been used for drying clothes, keeping out a draught, and in hanging pictures: and small houses must find it invaluable. The carpenter has carried out my idea with great skill and the model is here for anyone to see. I am enclosing a photograph, with dimensions. All that is needed is a small sum sufficient to manufacture a thousand or so and to pay the patent-fee. We can then see how it goes and arrange for further supplies. I expect it to be a little gold-mine both for the inventor and for the fortunate capitalist. I am giving you, dear Aunt Verena, the first chance. A sum of £500 should be sufficient to start with. So much for the business side. Now for the amusement. A good catchy name is needed for it, but I have not yet thought of one that wholly pleases me. The name should cover all its many functions and yet be short and snappy. I thought of “Steppo,” but that disregards the clothes-horse and screen; or “Klowscrene,” but that takes no note of the ladder. It occurred to me that you might find entertainment on your bed of sickness (which I trust you are soon to leave) in puzzling out something suitable. You must not think of me as for one moment wanting something for nothing. I should never do that. All I propose is an alliance between my restless brains and your dormant bank balance which might be profitable to both of us. Again wishing you a speedy recovery, I am, yours sincerely, HORACE _P.S._—I suppose it would hardly do to call it “The Angel in the House”? Not enough people know the phrase, and admirers of Coventry Patmore might be shocked. XVII ROY BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY