her, probably offensive letters, with nasty postscripts. She regarded me with not a fearful lot of joy.
“Oh, there you are, Bertie.”
“Yes, here I am.”
“There’s a smut on your nose.”
I plied the handkerchief.
“I am glad you have arrived so early. I want to have a word with you before you meet Mr. Filmer.”
“Who?”
“ Mr. Filmer, the Cabinet Minister. He is staying in the house. Surely even you must have heard of Mr. Filmer?”
“Oh, rather,” I said, though as a matter of fact the bird was completely unknown to me. What with one thing and another, I’m not frightfully well up in the personnel of the political