Remorse seized me; I put an arm about her, with--"Tired, old thing?"
She looked down at my books and, half-smiling, she looked up again.
"He's quite good now he's got his toys," she said, and kissed me.
* * * * *
VERY PERSONAL.
Just to see what it looks like with my name in it, I have been making a
diary of my doings (some real, some imaginary) in the approved language of
the Society and Personal column.
I am Mr. James Milfly. This is how it looks:--
"Yesterday was the fortieth birthday of Mr. James Milfly. He passed it
quietly at the office and at home. No congratulatory messages were received
and no replies will be sent."
"Among the outgoing passengers on the paddle steamer _Solent Tortoise_, on
Tuesday, was Mr. James Milfly. He returned to the mainland the same
evening, and will be at Southsea four days longer, after which, unless he
can think of an adequate excuse, he will return to town."
"Mr. James Milfly, who recently sustained a laceration of the finger while
cleaning his safety razor after use, passed another good night. The injured
member is healing satisfactorily, and no further bulletins will be issued."
"The performance of _The Bibulous Butler_ at the Corinthian Theatre last
night was witnessed by Mr.
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