Now, at a little distance, Miss Palliser passed as merely an ordinary specimen of a brilliant but conventional type. This effect was an illusion produced by her irreproachably correct attire. As she drew nearer it became apparent that convention could never have had very much to do with her. Tailor and milliner were responsible for the general correctness of Miss Palliser's appearance, Miss Palliser herself for the riot and confusion of the details. Her coat, flung open, displayed a tangle of laces disposed after her own fancy. Her skirts, so flawless and sedate, swept as if inspired by the storm of her long-legged impetuous stride. Under her too, too fashionable hat her brown hair was twisted in a way entirely her own; and fashion had left untouched the wild originality of her face. Bumpy brows, jutting eyebrows, and nose long in the bridge, wide in the nostril, tilted in a gentle gradient; a wide full-lipped nervous mouth, and no chin to speak of. A thin face lit by restless greenish eyes; stag-like, dog-like, humorous and alert. Miss Palliser sent the gaze of those eyes round the room. The hungry, Satanic humour in them roved, seeking what it might devour. It fell upon Mr. Rickman. "What have you got there?" Miss Harden's reply was inaudible. "Let me in. I want to look at it." "Don't, Kitty." Apparently an explanation followed from Miss Harden. It also was inaudible. "Lu-_chee_-a.! Where is Miss Roots, B.A.?" "Please, _please_, Kitty. Do go into the morning-room." This painful scene was cut short by Robert, who announced that tea was served. "Oh joy!" said Miss Palliser, and disappeared. Lucia, following, found her examining the tea-tray. "Only two cups," said Miss Palliser. "Isn't it going to get any tea then?" "Isn't what going to get any tea?" "It. The man thing you keep in there." "Yes. But it doesn't get it here." "I think you might ask it in. It might amuse me." Lucia ignored the suggestion. "I haven't talked," said Miss Palliser, "to a man thing for ages." "It hasn't come to be talked to. It's much too busy." "Mayn't it come in, just for a treat?" Lucia shook her head. "What's it like? Is it nice to look at?" "No--yes--no." "What? Haven't you made up your mind yet?" "I haven't thought about it." "Lucia, you're a perfect dog in the manger. You don't care a rap about the creature yourself, and yet you refuse to share it with your friend. I put it to you. Here we are, you and I, living in a howling wilderness untrodden by the foot of man, where even curates are at a premium--is it right, is it fair of you, to have a presentable man-thing in the house and to keep it to yourself?" "Well--you see, it--it isn't so very presentable." "Rubbish, I saw it. It looked perfectly all right." "That," said Lucia, "is illusion. You haven't heard it speak." "What's wrong with it?" "Nothing--nothing. Only it isn't exactly what you'd call a gentleman." "Oh. Well, I think you might have told me that before."