Peter:  “Just go away, will you?  I’m ill and want to get off.”

I did not move; I saw he was white with rage.  The idea of going round the country talking about me was more than he could bear; so I said, trying to mollify him: 

“If you want to discuss me, I am always willing to listen; there is nothing I enjoy so much as talking about myself.”

It was too late.  All he said to me was: 

“Do you mind leaving that door?  You tire me and it’s getting dark.”

Margot:  “I will let you go, but promise me you won’t go to Mrs. Bo to-day; or, if you do, tell me what you are going to say to her first.”

Peter:  “You’ve never told me yet what she said to you, except that I was in love with her, so why should I tell you what I propose saying to her!  For once you cannot have it all your own way.  You are so spoilt since you’ve been down here that...”

I flung the door wide open and, before he could finish his sentence, ran up to my room.

Peter was curiously upsetting to the feminine sense; he wanted to conceal it and to expose it at the same time, under the impression it might arouse my jealousy.  He was specially angry with me for dancing with King Edward, then the Prince of Wales.  I told him that if he would learn to waltz instead of prance I would dance with him, but till he did I should choose my own partners.  Over this we had a great row; and, after sitting out two dances with the Prince, I put on my cloak and walked round to 40 Grosvenor Square without saying good night to Peter.  I was in my dressing-gown, with my hair—­my one claim to beauty—­standing out all round my head, when I heard a noise in the street and, looking down, I saw Peter standing on the wall of our porch gazing across an angle of the area into the open window of our library, contemplating, I presumed, jumping into it; I raced downstairs to stop this dangerous folly, but I was too late and, as I opened the library-door, he had given a cat-like spring, knocking a flower-pot down into the area, and was by my side.  I lit two candles on the writing-table and scolded him for his recklessness.  He told me had made a great deal of money by jumping from a stand on to tables and things and once he had won L500 by jumping on to a mantelpiece when the fire was burning.  As we were talking I heard voices in the area; Peter, with the instinct of a burglar, instantly lay flat on the floor behind the sofa, his head under the valance of the chintz, and I remained at the writing-table, smoking my cigarette; this was all done in a second.  The door opened; I looked round and was blinded by the blaze of a bull’s-eye lantern.  When it was removed from my face, I saw two policemen, an inspector and my father’s servant.  I got up slowly and, with my head in the air, sat upon the arm of the sofa, blocking the only possibility of Peter’s full length being seen.

Margot (with great dignity):  “Is this a practical joke?”