THE third telegram ran to this tenour,-- “If Hawke wants you for India, sing slow. You are going with me. Stoddart.” Miss Grace had a mounting colour as she read this, and I believe swimming eyes and a reeling brain. I think she would have liked to weep for joy. “Oh, Dimmy,” she said, “isn’t it divine! Isn’t it _noble_ of old Stoddy! But I knew it, I knew it all along. It would have been impossible not to take old Charlie. Wonder what the boys’ll say?” At last it seemed that something of sufficient importance had occurred to tear her mind from her all-absorbing occupation. She got up, her cheeks still flushed, and moved to the door with a sort of look on her face that implied that for the present she was performing the extremely difficult feat of walking on air. But I was too quick for her. With a bound I got to the door, and had my back snugly against it by the time she arrived. “Now then, Dimmy, get out of the way,” she imperiously said. “Can’t wait a moment, you know. Must tell the boys. They’ll just go mad.” “Oh, you can’t,” said I immovably. “Really. How nice! And you _must_ tell the boys?” “No more ragging, Dimmy,” said she. “Honour bright, I can’t hold myself till I’ve told ’em. What are you standing there like that for? I want to pass.” “Oh, you do,” said I. “How interesting! Awf’ly glad you’ve told me. Jolly glad to know, you know.” “Dimmy, if you don’t drop your jolly jaw, and let me pass, I’ll be downright angry. Do you hear, Dimmy. Don’t play the Angora.” “Well, it’s like this,” said I. “For the last hour you have been spending your time in deliberately disregarding every word I’ve said. But now, my dear Grace, pointedly speaking, you’ve bally well got to listen, and the sooner you make your mind up to it, the sooner you’ll get it over.” At this Miss Grace began to flare up like anything. “The music’ll play in a minute,” she said. “Tell you straight, Dimmy, I’m a terror when I get my turkey up. If I do get my wool off, the feathers’ll fly.” “Nineteen from forty-one, quick!” said I. “But, my dear Grace, you sit down and listen. That’s my tip. It’s the only way you’ll get out just yet, anyhow.” “Don’t say I haven’t given you fair warning, Dimmy, will you?” she cried, with her face in a blaze. “All right,” said I cheerily; “just give me time, Grace, and I’ll laugh, I’m positive I’ll laugh.” Grace stamped her foot. She looked things. “Very nice, indeed,” said I. “I’m certain I’ll laugh.” “Oh, it _is_ too bad!” she wailed. “Dimmy, you _are_ a brute! I _must_ go and tell ’em. I must really. Dimmy, _do_ come away from that door, there’s a good soul!” “No,” said I callously; “not until you have considered and replied to my proposal.” “Proposal!” cried Grace, midway between amazement and rage. “What proposal?” “That comes of not listening,” said I. “Think what you’ve missed. Am I to understand that you didn’t hear a word I said?” “That’s about it,” said Grace.