“A wife’s first duty is to be submissive,” said I, conscious that I had the Prayer-book behind me and waving side issues, such as india-rubber, resolutely aside. “Yes, yes,” agreed Mrs. Menzies-Legh, “but----” “And I am thankful to say,” I continued quickly, for she was about to add something that I was sure was going to be aggressive, “I am thankful to say I was very fortunate in my Marie-Luise.” “And very fortunate in your Edelgard,” said she--they had got to Christian names the second day. “Of course,” said I. “She is a person everybody must love,” said she. “Undoubtedly,” said I. “So adaptable and quick,” continued the tactless lady. “You are very good,” said I, raising my Panama in stiff acknowledgment of these compliments. “And so unselfish,” said she. I bowed again, more stiffly than before. “Look how she cuts all the bread and butter.” I bowed again. “Look how she makes the coffee.” I bowed again. “Look how cheerful she is.” I bowed again. “And how clever, dear Baron.” Clever? That indeed was a new way of looking at poor Edelgard. I could not at this repress a smile of amusement. “I am gratified that you should have so good an opinion of my wife,” I said; and wished much to add, “But what is my wife to you that you should take it upon yourself to praise her? Is she not solely and exclusively my property?” Mrs. Menzies-Legh, however, was absolutely rebuke-proof, and had so many answers ready that I thought it better not to bring them upon me in crowds. I did though rather cleverly turn the tables upon her, and at the same time bring the conversation to a point which really interested me, by beginning to praise her sister. “It is good of you,” I said, “to commend my family. In return permit me to praise yours.” “What--John?” she asked, with a quick look and something of a smile. (John was her ill-conditioned husband.) “Are you--do you like him so much?” Now as I thought John a very poor thing indeed this question would have seemed difficult to answer to any one less ready. “Like,” said I, with conspicuously careful courtesy, “is not at all the word that describes my feelings toward your husband.” She looked at me sideways, then dropped her eyelashes. “Dear Baron,” she murmured, “how very----” “I was not, however,” I interrupted hastily, for I felt the ice would not bear much skating on, “thinking of him. I was referring to your sister.” “Oh?” said she--almost like the charming relative herself. “She is of course, and as you know, delightful. But of all her delightfulness do you know what strikes me as most delightful?” “No,” said Mrs. Menzies-Legh, watching me with obvious interest. “Her conversation.” “Yes. She is a good talker,” she admitted. “What I call a perfect talker,” said I enthusiastically. “I know. Everybody says so.” “Never too much,” I said meaningly. “Oh?” said she. “You think so? I rather imagined----” She stopped. “So extremely sympathetic,” I continued. “And so amusing,” said she.