I gave her an easy one to start with, wishing to work up naturally
to the denouement, and she gave me a very difficult one back, not
quite understanding the object of the game.

"You've got to go to bed," she cried, clapping her hands. "You've
got--to go--to bed. You've got--to go--to bed. You've--"

"All right," I said coldly. "Don't make a song about it."

It was ten minutes past six. I generally go to bed at eleven-thirty.
It would be the longest night I had had for years. I sighed and
prepared to go.

"You needn't go till half-past," said Betty kindly.

"No, no," I said firmly. "Rules are rules." I had just remembered
that there was nothing in the rules about not getting up again.

"Then I'll come with you and see your room."

"No, you mustn't do that; you'd fall out of the window. It's a very
tricky window. I'm always falling out of it myself."

"Then let's go on playing here, and we won't go to bed if we miss."

"Very well," I agreed. Really there was nothing else for it.

Robbed of its chief interest, the game proved, after ten minutes or
so, to be one of the duller ones. Whatever people say, I don't think