But—and this is the point—I needn’t have worried at all; and after such a wonderful experience of watchfulness over me I shall never worry again—I should be a monster of ingratitude if I did. Because all the time my guardian angel was working for me. For when I had dressed and started out to get to the Elysian punctually, what do you think?—there was a cordon of police all round it, to keep me and every one away, and thousands of people looking on. The restaurant had caught fire and was gradually but surely burning to the ground! Wasn’t that an extraordinary piece of luck, or rather, not luck but intervention? Of course it was no good looking for Stella among such a crowd, so I went off to the Club and dined alone. A religious fellow would make a tract about an experience of this kind. I’m afraid I can’t be called religious exactly, but I have learnt my lesson. I am still having bad nights thinking about my future.—Your affectionate nephew, ROY LXXXIX CLEMENCY POWER TO PATRICIA POWER PAT, MY ANGEL,—I am comfortable enough here but I wish I could hail an aeroplane and drop in on you all for a few hours. Some day we shall be able to do impulsive and impossible things like that. Miss Raby is certainly getting stronger, and could very well do her own reading, but she seems to like me. I am saving money too—because there’s nothing to do with it—and when my time is finished you must come to London to meet me and I’ll stand you some nice dinners and theatres before we go back. I hope I’ve done the school children a little good, but it’s heartbreaking to be a teacher, because one is fighting nature most of the time. “Be thoughtful, be good, be considerate,” we say, by which we mean “Behave so that the comfort of older people, who own the world, may be as little disturbed as possible.” But oh the little poets and rebels we are suppressing and perhaps destroying! We’re all women here, except the Doctor and the Rector, who are both old and oh so polite. The Doctor’s wife, Mrs. Ferguson, is the affable arch type who tells anecdotes and is “quite sure God has a sense of humour”—you know the kind I mean. The Rector’s wife is soft and clinging and full of superlative praise. But I mustn’t be critical, because every one here is kind and nice, and as for Miss Raby I’d do anything for her. Give Herself my love and say I’ll write very soon. Adela ought to write to me, tell her.—Your devoted CLEM. XC HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY