“In my younger days,” he said, “she was comeliness itself ... full of fun. I well recall her as the ‘wife’ in _Macbeth;_ I assure you she was positively roguish.” “Being fairly on now in years,” Miss Sinquier reflected, “she naturally wouldn’t fill very juvenile parts—which would be a blessing.” “She too often does.” “She used to make Paul ill——” Mrs. Sixsmith began, but stopped discreetly. “Oh, listen,” she murmured, glancing up towards the nigger band and insouciantly commencing to hum. “What is it...?” “It’s the _Belle of Benares_— “‘_My other females all yellow, fair or black, To thy charms shall prostrate fall, As every kind of elephant does To the white elephant Buitenack. And thou alone shall have from me, Jimminy, Gomminy, whee, whee, whee, The Gomminy, Jimminy, whee._’” “Serephine, you’re eating nothing at all.” “I shall wait for the patisserie, Sir Oliver.” “Disgraceful.” “Father Francis forbids me meat; it’s a little novena he makes me do.” “‘_The great Jaw-waw that rules our land, And pearly Indian sea, Has not such_ ab-solute _command As thou hast over me, With a Jimminy, Gomminy, Gomminy, Jimminy, Jimminy, Gomminy, whee._’” “Apropos of pearls ...” Sir Oliver addressed Miss Sinquier, “I look forward to the privilege before long of inspecting your own.” “They’re on her head, Sir Oliver!” Sir Oliver started as a plate was passed unexpectedly over him from behind. “Before approaching some City firm, it’s possible Lady Dawtry might welcome an opportunity of acquiring this poor child’s jewels for herself,” Mrs. Sixsmith said. “Lady Dawtry!” “Why not?” “Lady Dawtry seldom wears ornaments; often I wish she would.” “I wonder you don’t _insist._” Sir Oliver fetched a sigh. “Many’s the time,” he said, “I’ve asked her to be a little more spectacular—but she won’t.” “How women do vary!” Mrs. Sixsmith covertly smiled. “To be sure.” “My poor old friend...?” Sir Oliver turned away. “I notice Miss Peters here to-night,” he said. “Whipsina?” “With two young men.” “_Un trio n’excite pas de soupçons_, they say.” “They do....” “Have you a programme for presently, Sir Oliver?” “I’ve a box at the Kehama.” Miss Sinquier looked tragic. “It’ll have begun!” she said. “At a variety, the later the better as a rule.” “I never like to miss _any_ part.” “My dear, you’ll miss very little; besides it’s too close to linger over dinner long.” “Toc, toc; I don’t find it so,” Sir Oliver demurred. Mrs. Sixsmith plied her fan. “I feel very much like sitting _à la_ Chaste Suzanne, in the nearest ice-pail!” she declared. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ VIII