The Lady Acetylene Lampe reclined at ease on the broad window-seat, and gazed dreamily out over the sea which lay hot, sparkling, and brilliantly blue on this August morning.<br />&ldquo;My lady,&rdquo; said her faithful attendant, &ldquo;whither are thy thoughts straying? With thy lord, perchance, who even now does battle for his king and country in the vasty fields of France? Or&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Peace, wench!&rdquo; the Lady Acetylene interrupted peevishly. &ldquo;You disturb the&mdash;the parabola of my mind.&rdquo;<br />The faithful attendant gasped. &ldquo;The&mdash;the what of your mind?&rdquo; she asked feebly.<br />&ldquo;You heard!&rdquo; her Lady retorted briefly.<br />&ldquo;Where did you get it?&rdquo; the faithful attendant demanded. Then she added with point, &ldquo;D&rsquo;you know what it means? Come to that, can you even spell it?&rdquo;<br />Before the outraged Lady Acetylene could reply, there came a further interruption. A plaintive voice called up the stairs, &ldquo;Polly&mdash;Pol-lee! Come down, dear! I want you!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;There&rsquo;s Mother on the yell,&rdquo; the attendant observed, with a most undutiful lack of respect. &ldquo;What does she want now?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;You&rsquo;d better go and see,&rdquo; the Lady responded. &ldquo;It can&rsquo;t be to lay the table for tea. I did that before we came up here.&rdquo;