"Have you written to the St. Martins?" said Daphne, "to say that you'll be a day late?"
"I have. The masterpiece is on the writing-table, awaiting insertion in an envelope."
I picked up the letter and read aloud as follows—
Madam,
I am disposed to refer to your invitation to make one of the house-party due to assemble on the 23rd instant.
I am to say that a malignant Fate has decreed that I shall not dignify your hovel before the evening of the following day.
The feeling of profound disappointment which this announcement will provoke should be tempered by the reflection that you are fortunate indeed to have secured so enchanting a personality for your festivities, which, however hopeless they may appear, cannot fail to be galvanized into some show of life by my inspiring presence.
My luggage and the four ungrateful parasites who have so long battened upon my generosity will arrive on the 23rd, as arranged. One of the latter has stealthily acquired a mongrel, which, provided he can obtain the necessary permit, he proposes to bring with him. My protests against this abuse of hospitality have been received with that vulgar insolence which I have, alas, learned to expect.
I am to request you to remember that I am visiting you incognito, as the Duke of Blackpool, and that at this season it is my practice to consume a mince-pie and a bottle of beer before retiring.
I am, Madam,