I took a walk round the garden three or four times, feeling the need of fresh air. On returning Gowing noticed I was not smoking: offered me another cigar, which I politely declined. Gowing began his usual sniffing, so, anticipating him, I said: *You’re not going to complain of the smell of paint again?*

He said: *No, not this time; but I’ll tell you what, I distinctly smell dry rot.* I don’t often make jokes, but I replied: *You’re talking a lot of dry rot yourself.* I could not help roaring at this, and Carrie said her sides quite ached with laughter. I never was so immensely tickled by anything I have ever said before. I actually woke up twice during the night, and laughed till the bed shook.