Your loving sister,
Jane.
P.S.—I said the end was approaching.
After dinner we sat on the terrace—a perfect night. Presently I called Ivan. He appeared at the window, pipe in hand. ‘Why don’t you come and sit here?’ I said. ‘It’s wicked to stay indoors.’ ‘D’you think so?’ he said, hesitating. ‘I’m sure of it,’ said I. ‘Of course, if you’d rather read . . .’ He came out and sat down. He and I talked for a while, and then Belinda joined in. By ten o’clock the tambourine was rolling. When we got up to go to bed, Belinda gave Ivan her hand. ‘It was very nice of you to lend me your car,’ she said. Ivan bowed. ‘It was very nice of you to use it,’ he said gently. I tried to escape, but Belinda caught me up. Still, the last act has begun.
J.
Lady Cherubic was right.
As a matter of fact she accelerated the dénouement by setting her foot firmly on the pedal of opportunity and pressing it right down.
In a word, on the very next evening the three had not been together for a quarter of an hour when she rose and announced her intention of retiring to take a short nap.
With that, she walked into the library.
After a moment Ivan, who had risen also, resumed his seat and put his pipe back in his mouth.