"I suppose it is," she said doubtfully.

"And then there's amusements," I went on. "We will have Charles in once or
twice a week. No servant who has ever heard Charles trying to sing would
prefer a night out at the cinema or the skating-rink. If she does, we'll
get a gramophone."

"Not for worlds," she gasped.

"Oh, _you_ wouldn't have to listen to it. It would live in the basement,
and HARRY LAUDER would help the girl to clean the knives and break the
cups, and GEORGE ROBEY would make washing the dishes one grand sweet song.
The basement would be a fairyland."

"All this doesn't seem to get us much further," she complained, "in
deciding which of those houses we're going to take."

"Oh, doesn't it?" I said, and, sitting down, I wrote a few lines rapidly
and handed her the draft for approval. She approved.

And that is why, if you look at _The Times'_ "Domestic Situations" column
to-morrow, you may see the following announcement:--

HOUSE-PARLOURMAID WANTED, helpless couple, where gramophone kept; state
whether Hampstead, Chiswick or Shepherd's Bush preferred.

EVOE.

* * * * *