My dear Bertie,—Last night I skimmed some of the cream of life, and incidentally got an idea for a lever de rideau, of which I make you a present.
Far be it from me to glean from the crop of trouble of a man whose salt I have eaten, but the situation was a gift from the gods, which I will not spoil on a sheet of notepaper. When have you a free evening?
Always, Harry.
VIII.
From Miss Isolt Sleight-Spender to Miss Marjorie Browne.
(Extract.)
... The Mudder is quite ill. It is all through that woman at No. 7. It must be because we didn't call on her. But what an evening ruined! Bogloffsky behaved like a perfect pig and wouldn't play a note after all the trouble he put us to; and when we got up from the table they say he sniffed at his coffee and pulled some out of his pocket and rubbed it in his hands to make the others smell the difference. Did you ever hear of such a thing?....
IX.
From Serge Bogloffsky to Stepan Bogloffsky, Moscow.
(Translation.)