"Some day or other, when out driving," says Dicky Browne, meditatively, "those three old people will go to sleep, and those animated skeletons will carry them to the land where they would _not_ be." Then a step is heard outside, and they all run back to their seats and sink into them, and succeed in looking exactly as if they had never quitted them for the past three hours, as the door opens and the man announces Miss Gaunt. "Remember the puddings," says Dicky Browne, in a careful aside, as Dulce rises to receive her first guest. She is tall--and gaunt as her name. She is old, but strong-minded. She affects women's rights, and all that sort of thing, and makes herself excessively troublesome at times. Women, in her opinion, are long-suffering, down-trodden angels; all men are brutes! Meetings got up for the purpose of making men and women detest each other are generously encouraged by her. It is useless to explain her further, as she has little to do with the story, and, of course, you have all met her once (I hope not twice) in your lifetimes. Dulce goes up to greet her with her usual gracious smile. Then she is gently reminded that she once met Julia Beaufort before, and then she is introduced to Portia. To the men she says little, regarding them probably as beings beneath notice, all, that is, excepting Dicky Browne, who insists on conversing with her, and treating her with the most liberal cordiality, whether she likes it or not. Dexterously he leads up the conversation, until culinary matters are brought into question, when Miss Gaunt says in her slow, crushing fashion: "How do you like that last woman I sent you? Satisfactory, eh?" "Cook, do you mean?" asks Dulce, to gain time. "Yes--cook," says the old lady, uncompromisingly. "She was"--severely--"in my opinion, one of the best cooks I ever met." "Yes, of course, I dare say. We just think her cooking a little monotonous," says poor Dulce, feeling as if she is a culprit fresh brought to the bar of justice. "Monotonous!" says Miss Gaunt, in an affronted tone, giving her bonnet an indignant touch that plants it carefully over her left ear. "I don't think I understand. A monotonous cook! In my day there were bad cooks, and good cooks, and indifferent cooks, but monotonous cooks--never! Am I to believe by your accusation that she repeats herself?" "Like history; exactly so. Very neat, indeed," says Mr. Browne, approvingly. "Well, in the matter of puddings, she does--rather," says Dulce, somewhat fearfully. "Ah! In point of fact, she doesn't suit you," says Miss Gaunt, fixing Dulce with a stony glare. "There you are wrong," puts in Mr. Browne, regardless of the fact that she has treated all his other overtures with open contempt, "that is exactly what she does. Don't take a false impression of the case. She _suets_ us tremendously! Doesn't she, Dulce?"