Mr. Longdon had said nothing more, but Mrs. Brook preferred none the less to treat the question as between themselves. She WAS, as the others said, wonderful. “You can’t help thinking me”--she spoke to him straight--“rather tortuous.” The pause she thus momentarily produced was so intense as to give a sharpness that was almost vulgar to the little “Oh!” by which it was presently broken and the source of which neither of her three companions could afterwards in the least have named. Neither would have endeavoured to fix an infelicity of which each doubtless had been but too capable. “It’s only as a mother,” she added, “that I want my chance.” But the Duchess was at this again in the breach. “Take it, for mercy’s sake then, my dear, over Harold, who’s an example to Nanda herself in the way that, behind the piano there, he’s keeping it up with Lady Fanny.” If this had been a herring that, in the interest of peace, the Duchess had wished to draw across the scent, it could scarce have been more effective. Mrs. Brook, whose position had made just the difference that she lost the view of the other side of the piano, took a slight but immediate stretch. “IS Harold with Lady Fanny?” “You ask it, my dear child,” said the Duchess, “as if it were too grand to be believed. It’s the note of eagerness,” she went on for Mr. Longdon’s benefit--“it’s almost the note of hope: one of those that ces messieurs, that we all in fact delight in and find so matchless. She desires for Harold the highest advantages.” “Well then,” declared Vanderbank, who had achieved a glimpse, “he’s clearly having them. It brings home to one his success.” “His success is true,” Mrs. Brook insisted. “How he does it I don’t know.” “Oh DON’T you?” trumpeted the Duchess. “He’s amazing,” Mrs. Brook pursued. “I watch--I hold my breath. But I’m bound to say also I rather admire. He somehow amuses them.” “She’s as pleased as Punch,” said the Duchess. “Those great calm women--they like slighter creatures.” “The great calm whales,” the Duchess laughed, “swallow the little fishes.” “Oh my dear,” Mrs. Brook returned, “Harold can be tasted, if you like--” “If _I_ like?” the Duchess parenthetically jeered. “Thank you, love!” “But he can’t, I think, be eaten. It all works out,” Mrs. Brook expounded, “to the highest end. If Lady Fanny’s amused she’ll be quiet.” “Bless me,” cried the Duchess, “of all the immoral speeches--! I put it to you, Longdon. Does she mean”--she appealed to their friend--“that if she commits murder she won’t commit anything else?” “Oh it won’t be murder,” said Mrs. Brook. “I mean that if Harold, in one way and another, keeps her along, she won’t get off.” “Off where?” Mr. Longdon risked. Vanderbank immediately informed him. “To one of the smaller Italian towns. Don’t you know?” “Oh yes. Like--who is it? I forget.” “Anna Karenine? You know about Anna?”