With much respect,
I am, dear Mr. Punch,
Yours devotedly,
A. Dampier Squibb.
ARCHIBILL.
His name was, so to speak, the fine flower of Delia's imagination, and of mine. Mrs. Mutimer-Sympson gave him to Delia as a war-time birthday-present, and he was at once acclaimed as "fascinating," which he may have been, and "lovely," which he certainly was not. His usual abiding-place was the kitchen, in comfortable proximity to the range, which he shared with one of his kind or of a lower order; but there were occasions when he honoured the dining-room with a visit.
"Though he mustn't come in when we've callers," said Delia: this was in the early days, when his title and status were as yet nebulous.
"But why not?" I protested. "William's all right, so long as he's reasonably clean."
Delia raised her eyebrows à la française.