“Do tell us what you know about her,” Claire suggested. “I think her manners are atrocious, myself, and she is victimizing unfortunate Captain Patch, who used to be quite a nice boy.” Claire spoke very lightly indeed, and yet one could sense the bitterness that prompted the words. It was not only personal dislike of Mrs. Harter--although that certainly existed--it was also resentment at the central place that Mrs. Harter occupied in an emotional adventure. On a certain plane, Claire’s perceptions and intuitions are exceptionally acute, and I think she knew very well that greater forces were at work than she herself could have coped with, and the knowledge made her angry. No one likes to feel inadequate, and, after all, Claire’s speciality was the emotions. “Do tell us what you know about Mrs. Harter,” she repeated. “Oh, it doesn’t amount to anythin’ desperate,” said good-natured Mrs. Leeds. “She was pretty hot stuff out there and her husband carried on in rather an alarmin’ way, that’s all, when she went a bit too far. Ghastly little man, Harter--the men all barred him, absolutely.” “Why?” “He wasn’t supposed to be straight, or something--_I_ don’t know,” said Mrs. Leeds casually. “Never could imagine why the woman didn’t do a bunk, myself. One or two of the men were mad about her--God knows why. But nobody had a good word for Harter. He did some very dirty trick over a deal in polo ponies, I believe, but it was kept pretty dark, and anyway, we weren’t there very long. The men all said that Mrs. Harter was straight, whatever they meant by that, but I never heard of anyone havin’ a good word to say for Harter. I must say he was an objectionable-lookin’ little bounder, if ever there was one. No one could imagine why on earth she’d ever married him.” “Perhaps she wanted to get away from the plumber’s shop, and thought that the only opportunity,” Claire suggested. “I suppose, from what you say, that she must be attractive to men--of a certain sort--but she isn’t in the least good-looking.” Mrs. Leeds laughed loudly. I think it crossed her mind vaguely, with no sort of understanding, that Claire was in some way jealous of Mrs. Harter, and it amused her. “It isn’t what _I_ say,” she remarked. “It’s what we could see for ourselves. That red-headed youth is perfectly besotted. I quite agree with you that she’s no beauty, but she’s got _him_ on a string all right.” “It’s a great pity,” said Claire emphatically. “Captain Patch is a nice young man, really.” Quite suddenly Mrs. Kendal woke up. She looked round upon us with rather a blank eye for a moment, but instinct, or her subconscious self, must have prompted her as to what we had been talking about, for she joined in almost automatically. “Captain Patch--yes, indeed. That woman ought to know better. Why, she must be old enough to be his mother.” “No.” That was Mary Ambrey, who is always reasonable, and seldom emphatic.