This evening one of the finest damask cloths with inlets of lace at each corner had been put on in honour of Mrs. Hugh, and the heavy silver bowl in the centre with its four attendant silver vases arranged diamond-wise contained the last poor blooms from the garden, mixed with leaves whose colours ranged from saffron through orange and russet to flaming scarlet. It was in keeping with Mrs. Greene's love of formality that the conversation at dinner should run along prescribed lines. General topics of any sort, trivial or abstruse, she welcomed--but forbade anything of a personal nature to be discussed; gossip must be kept for the drawing-room. This was sometimes a severe trial to Miss Dorset who at the end of a wearisome day found herself forced to eschew just those comfortable irrelevances which were all that occurred to her tired mind. Mrs. Hugh, however, like Mrs. Greene, was of that self-effacing generation of women that had been brought up to make conversation at dinner with the sole purpose of entertaining the gentlemen, and she perfectly understood why clothes and personalities were permissible in one room and taboo in another. Accordingly throughout the meal the two old ladies were accustomed to exchange a number of superficial generalisations which both were too fatigued to pursue. Mrs. Greene's single moment of animation was also one of indignation. "You've not drunk your sherry," she said crossly. "It's still the sherry that Geoffrey laid down and I've got enough palate left to know that it's good. Why don't you drink it?" "You know I never care much about wine," Mrs. Hugh replied, "I think the only thing I really enjoy is a glass of good claret." Mrs. Greene smiled. "I remembered that," she said. "I told them to bring up a bottle of the Pontet Canet. We had some up last time Rodney was here, and it's got a beautiful bouquet." "I shall enjoy that, Margaret," said Mrs. Hugh. "You know I've never had to add anything to the cellar since Hugh died. Sometimes I've been very sorry to think of the 1906 Veuve Clicquot going past it's best; in fact once or twice I've thought of giving it to one of the young couples, but young people don't seem to have cellars nowadays." "That's true." Mrs. Greene's assent was a little morose. "They don't go in for anything so permanent. If they want something to drink they just ring up a shop and order a few bottles." "There have been great changes in the last twenty years," reflected Mrs. Hugh. "Some for the worse, no doubt, and many for the better, but I confess I no longer find myself able to adapt very readily. I'm too old to change." This was dangerously like an expression of personal feeling and Mrs. Hugh hastily covered her tracks by asking Mrs. Greene's opinion of a new book of travel.