“I am sure there has been a great deal of trouble in the world lately,” said Mrs. Heywood. “I’m sure I can’t bear to read even the dear _Daily Mail_,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. “What with murders and revolutions and eloping vicars and suffragettes----” “Those outrageous women ought to be whipped,” said her husband. “Spoiled my game of golf last Saturday. Found ‘Votes for Women’ on the first green. Made me positively ill.” “I am glad dear Clare is so sensible,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. “Yes. Oh, quite so,” said Mrs. Heywood, flushing a little. “Oh, rather!” said Herbert. “We domestic women are in the minority now,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. “The spirit of revolt is abroad, Herbert,” said her husband. “Back to the Home is the only watchword which will save the country from these shameless hussies. Flog ‘em back, I would. Thank God _our_ wives have more sense.” “Yes, there’s something in that,” said Herbert. Mrs. Atkinson Brown was gazing round the room curiously. She seemed to suspect something. “You are sure dear Clare is quite well?” she asked. “No little trouble?” “She is having a slight trouble with her back hair,” said Herbert. “Won’t lie down, you know.” He laughed loudly, as though he had made a good joke. Mrs. Atkinson Brown half rose from her chair. “Oh, let me go to the rescue of the dear thing!” Herbert was terror-stricken. “No--no! It was only my joke,” he said eagerly. “She will be here in a minute. Do sit down.” Mrs. Heywood remembered her promise to “play the game.” “Won’t you sing something, dear?” she said to her visitor. “Oh, not so early in the evening,” said the lady. “Besides, I have a most awful cold.” “Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Herbert. “I am beastly sorry.” As he spoke the bell rang again, and Herbert went over to his mother and whispered to her: “Do you think that is Clare? My God, this is awful!” “Clare was not looking very well the other day when I saw her,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. “I thought perhaps she was sickening for something.” “Oh, I assure you she was never better in her life,” said Herbert. “But you men are so unobservant. I am dying to see dear Clare, to ask her how she feels. Are you sure I can’t be of any use to her?” She rose again from her chair, and Herbert gave a beseeching look to his mother. “Oh, quite sure, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood. “_Do_ sit down.” “Besides, you have such a frightful cold,” said Herbert, with extreme anxiety. “_Do_ keep closer to the fire.” Mrs. Atkinson Brown laughed a little curiously: “You seem very anxious to keep me from dear Clare!” This persistence annoyed her husband and he rebuked her sternly. “Sit still, Beatrice, can’t you? Don’t you see that we have arrived a little early and that we have taken Clare unawares? Let the poor girl go on with her dressing.” “Don’t bully me in other people’s flats, Charles,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. “I have enough of it at home.” Her husband was not to be quelled.