Mrs. Combermere also lived in the Precincts, so that Mrs. Brandon had not far to go. Before she arrived there a little conversation took place between the lady of the house, Miss Stiles, Miss Dobell and Dr. Puddifoot, that her presence would most certainly have hindered. Mrs. Combermere was once described by some one as "constructed in concrete"; and that was not a bad description of her, so solid, so square and so unshakable and unbeatable was she. She wore stiff white collars like a man's, broad thick boots, short skirts and a belt at her waist. Her black hair was brushed straight back from her forehead, she had rather small brown eyes, a large nose and a large mouth. Her voice was a deep bass. She had some hair on her upper lip, and thick, strong, very white hands. She liked to walk down the High Street, a silver-topped cane in her hand, a company of barking dogs at her heels, and a hat, with large hat-pins, set a little on one side of her head. She had a hearty laugh, rather like the Archdeacon's. Dr. Puddifoot was our doctor for many years and brought many of my generation into the world. He was a tall, broad, loose-set man, who always wore tweeds of a bright colour. Mrs. Combermere cared nothing for her surroundings, and her house was never very tidy. She bullied her servants, but they liked her because she gave good wages and fulfilled her promises. She was the first woman in Polchester to smoke cigarettes. It was even said that she smoked cigars, but no one, I think, ever saw her do this. On this afternoon she subjected Miss Stiles to a magisterial inquiry; Miss Stiles had on the preceding evening given a little supper party, and no one in Polchester did anything of the kind without having to render account to Mrs. Combermere afterwards. They all sat round the fire, because it was a cold day. Mrs. Combermere sat on a straight-backed chair, tilting it forward, her skirt drawn up to her knees, lier thick-stockinged legs and big boots for all the world to see. "Well, Ellen, whom did you have?" "Ronder and his aunt, the Bentinck-Majors, Charlotte Ryle and Major Drake." "Sorry I couldn't have been there. What did you give them?" "Soup, fish salad, cutlets, chocolate souffle, sardines on toast." "What drink?" "Sherry, claret, lemonade for Charlotte, whisky." "Any catastrophes?" "No, I don't think so. Bentinck-Major sang afterwards." "Hum--not sorry I missed _that_. When was it over?" "About eleven." "What did you ask them for?" "For the Ronders." Mrs. Combermere, raising one foot, kicked a coal into blaze. "Tea will be in in a minute.... Now, I'll tell you for your good, my dear Ellen, that I don't like your Ronder." Miss Stiles laughed. "Oh, you needn't mind me, Betsy. You never have. Why don't you?" "In the first place, he's stupid." Miss Stiles laughed again. "Never wronger in your life. I thought you were smarter than that."