"Oh, I knew you came home from Europe, but I thought you were still in New York." "Oh, I only went on to see Aunt Dinah for a couple of days. I got caught in the most awful storm you ever saw." "But the winter," Mrs. Chumley Jones observes, with an air of freshness and conviction which is something beautiful to see, "has been as mild as a Roman winter most of the time." "Yes, it has been like a Roman winter." The crowd separates them and they go their several ways, each repeating that it is like a Roman winter; but meanwhile the same observation is being scattered broadcast by Mr. Maunder, Mr. Lasceet, and Mr. Drummond, so that, although there are a good many people in the room, they are in a fair way of being all informed that the winter strongly resembles that of Rome; a statement which, if true, may be regarded as of the highest importance. It is not until, entering the tea room, Mrs. Chumley Jones encounters Mrs. Quagget, who talks more rapidly than any other known woman, that she has anybody take the words out of her mouth; but before she can tell Mrs. Quagget that it is like a Roman winter, Mrs. Quagget has imparted that interesting information to her. It is all one, however, since something has been said by one of them; and Mrs. Chumley Jones is not in the least disconcerted. She still clings to the convenient remark, as she did not take the trouble to bring one with her, and this one suits her purpose admirably. "My dear Miss Tarrart," she exclaims, as she comes upon a wintry young lady of advanced stages of maturity, "how do you do? I haven't seen you for an age." "Why, how do you do, Mrs. Jones?" is the response, delivered in a manner so emphatic as to convey the impression that the reason why Miss Tarrart is so odd-looking is because she has put so much energy into her greetings of her friends. "I am enchanted to see you. When do you go abroad? I am sure one might almost think they were abroad in this weather. It is so--" "Yes," Mrs. Jones interposes, taking the words out of her mouth; "I was just saying to Mrs. Quagget that this is really quite like a Roman winter; don't you think so?" "Yes, it is," Miss Tarrart answers, with the air of one who has been beaten by unfair means. "It is like a Roman winter." "Why don't you come and see me, Miss Tarrart? It really is not kind of you to stay away so long." "I am coming very soon; and you must come and see me." "Oh, yes; I am coming. Do you know which way Mrs. Fruffles is? I really must go." "She is in the other room." "Well, good-bye, dear." "Good-bye." The two separate, each thinking how fast the other is growing old. Mrs. Chumley Jones, feeling that she has now done her whole duty, does not even take the trouble any more to tell people that the winter is like a Roman one. She merely makes her way to the hostess. "Good-bye," she says. "One always has such lovely times at your house, Mrs. Fruffles."