So the fight went on—with slight successes on both sides, but nothing decisive—till one day when Mrs. Dawburn-Jones went to town in a taxi and returned with a family of negroes from the Congo. It was a splendid sight to see her leading them through the grounds and discoursing to them in her best Boulognese. Mrs. Studholm-Brown wriggled with mortification.
Then her chance of a counter-attack arrived. She had, or her husband had, or her husband's brother-in-law had, a second cousin who was an officer, and, what was more, a wounded officer. He was persuaded to spend a week-end of his convalescence at "The Hollies." His hostess walked him proudly up and down all the paths which were in full view of "Dulce Domum." It was magnificent to see her adjust his sling. At that moment I dare not have trusted Mrs. Dawburn-Jones with a gun or the officer would have been in as great peril as in the trenches. How it will end I can scarcely imagine. I like to picture a great day of victory. Then, if the Crown Prince be allowed to take up his abode on parole, in some quiet suburban home, I am sure "The Hollies" will snap him up. And if "The Hollies" secures the Crown Prince no power in this world can prevent Mrs. Dawburn-Jones from securing the Kaiser.
THE HELPMEET.
"May I come in?" said Cecily, knocking at my study door.
"If you insist," said I.
"I only want to use the telephone," she explained, as if that made it any better.
"You couldn't take it away and use it somewhere else?" I asked.
She was unmoved. "It needn't disturb you," she said. "I'll be as quiet as a mouse."