There was a solemn silence. I could do nothing but murmur expressions of sympathy and disgust; but my thoughts took suddenly a fantastic turn and I mentally christened our present leader of county society the “Mistress of the Cats,” hunting impossible birds to a well-deserved social death. I awoke from my dream of delight and waited. “Mr. Huggins” (that was the name of the commercial gentleman) “went so far as to request me to bring the gramophone on to the lawn on Sunday afternoon. Fortunately, I had disabled my arm at the time and the doctor considered it inadvisable for me to attempt weights of any kind, so the second footman obliged them; otherwise I should have been in great difficulty.” I still think that Perrin did the poor things injustice, and that if his late lordship had ordered a barouche full of gramophones to be brought on to the lawn, my friend would have adjusted his prejudices and his arm to meet the case. His dislike was due to a primitive suspicion of an alien tribe whose size and shape and smell offended him. Just as I feel about Mrs. Simpson--I am not running her down in any way. There was an awful moment of anxiety when it occurred to me that Perrin might want me to play games, but, on thinking it over, I decided that he would not wish it unless I played very well indeed, and that I knew was an impossibility. I could not face the idea of tennis while he was bringing out the tea or announcing visitors. My legs would be sure to get entangled in his eye and then all would be over between us. We were obliged to get a victoria and a pair of horses soon after he arrived, as he disliked my coming in tired and dusty from paying visits. Of course, that meant a footman too, as I hate a victoria with one horse, and nothing would induce me to drive behind two horses and one man--if there is only one man to two horses the man’s hat gets fluffy at once, also it is impossible to make one man’s coat fit properly; so long as there are two horses, it is always loose behind the shoulders and his white collar behaves like the setting sun. So there we were, involved in endless expense and all because of Perrin. But oh! the relief of it! The mere fact that he did not wear cuffs that came off, and rattled, and were left about on tables, gave me much peace of mind, and, best of all, I basked in the certainty that although he might direct my actions, he would never interfere with my thoughts as Clara did. I could hear her thinking and having feelings all over the house; but Perrin did all his thinking in the pantry, never permitting himself to indulge his brain in my presence. I knew that when Clara said she “hadn’t an idea,” it meant that her mind was so seething with folly that it was likely to burst forth into reproach at any moment. When I asked Perrin where my thimble and scissors were, he said that he would ascertain, which meant that he withdrew respectfully to the pantry and