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 it compares with cricket, for instance.  It is certainly not so subtle as golf.

“I like playing this game,” said Betty.  “Don’t you?”

“I think I shall get to love it,” I said, looking at the clock.  There were still five minutes, and I rolled down a very fast googly which beat her entirely and went straight for the door.  Under the old rules she would have gone to bed at once.  Alas, that—­

“Look out,” I said as she went after it, “there’s somebody coming in.”

Somebody came in.  She smiled ruefully at us and then took Betty’s hand.

“I’m afraid my little girl has been worrying you,” she said prettily.

“I knew you’d say that,” said Betty.

CINDERELLA

(Being an extract from her diary—­picked up behind the scenes)

Tuesday.—­Sometimes I think I am a very lucky girl having two big sisters to look after me.  I expect there are lots of young girls who have nobody at all, and I think they must be so lonely.  There is always plenty of fun going on in our house.  Yesterday I heard Sister Fred telling Sister Bert something about her old man coming home very late one night—­I didn’t quite understand who the old man was, or what it was all about, but I know Sister Bert thought it was very funny, and I seemed to hear a lot of people laughing; perhaps it was the fairies.  And then whenever Sister Bert sits down she always pulls her skirt right up to her knees, so as people can see her stockings.  I mean there’s always something amusing happening.