of a semiprofessional jester who took it on himself to act as the life of the party.  It was after eleven o’clock when we rejoined the ladies, but the evening apparently had only just begun; the serious business of the day—­bridge—­was at hand.  But in those days my wife and I did not play bridge; and as there was nothing else for us to do we retired, after a polite interval, to our apartments.

While getting ready for the night we shouted cheerfully to one another through the open doors of the bathroom and, I remember, became quite jolly; but when my wife had gone to bed and I tried to close the blinds I discovered that there were none.  Now neither of us had acquired the art of sleeping after daylight unless the daylight was excluded.  With grave apprehension I arranged a series of makeshift screens and extinguished the lights, wandering round the room and turning off the key of each one separately, since the architect had apparently forgotten to put in a central switch.

If there had been no servants in evidence when we wanted them before dinner, no such complaint could be entered now.  There seemed to be a bowling party going on upstairs.  We could also hear plainly the rattle of dishes and a lively interchange of informalities from the kitchen end of the establishment.  We lay awake tensely.  Shortly after one o’clock these particular sounds died away, but there was a steady tramp of feet over our heads until three.  About this hour, also, the bridge party broke up and the guests came upstairs.

There were no outside doors to our rooms.  Bells rang, water ran, and there was that curious vibration which even hairbrushing seems to set going in a country house.  Then with a final bang, comparative silence descended.  Occasionally still, to be sure, the floor squeaked over our heads.  Once somebody got up and closed a window.  I could hear two distant snorings in major and minor keys.  I managed to snatch a few winks and then an alarm-clock went off.  At no great distance the scrubbing maid was getting up.  I could hear her every move.

The sun also rose and threw fire-pointed darts at us through the windowshades.  By five o’clock I was ready to scream with nerves; and, having dug a lounge suit out of the gentlemen’s furnishing store in my trunk, I cautiously descended into the lower regions.  There was a rich smell of cigarettes everywhere.  In the hall I stumbled over the feet of the sleeping night-watchman.  But the birds were twittering in the bushes; the grassblades threw back a million flashes to the sun.

Not before a quarter to ten could I secure a cup of coffee, though several footmen, in answer to my insistent bell, had been running round apparently for hours in a vain endeavor to get it for me.  At eleven a couple of languid younger men made their appearance and conversed apathetically with one another over the papers.  The hours drew on.