“I really don’t know, Mrs Montgomery. But the press seemed to find it significant,’” Mrs Bedley replied as a Nun of the Flaming-Hood with a jolly face all gold with freckles entered the shop: “Have you _Valmouth_ by Ronald Firbank or _Inclinations_ by the same author?” she asked. “Neither I’m sorry--both are out!” “Maladetta ✠✠✠✠! But I’ll be passing soon again,” the Sister answered as she twinklingly withdrew. “You’d not think now by the look of her she had been at Girton!” Mrs Bedley remarked. “Once a Girton girl always a Girton girl, Mrs Bedley.” “It seems a curate drove her to it....” “I’m scarcely astonished. Looking back I remember the average curate at home as something between a eunuch and a snigger.” “Still, dear, I could never renounce my religion. As I said to the dear Chaplain only the other day (while he was having some tea), Oh, if only I were a man, I said! Wouldn’t I like to _denounce_ the disgraceful goings on every Sabbath down the street at the church of the Blue Jesus.” “And I assure you it’s positively _nothing_, Mrs Bedley, at the Jesus, to what it is at the church of St Mary the Fair! I was at the wedding of one of the equerries lately, and never saw anything like it.” “It’s about time there was an English wedding, in _my_ opinion, Mrs Montgomery!” “There’s not been one in the Colony indeed for some time.” Mrs Bedley smiled undaunted. “I trust I may be spared to dance before long at Dr and Mrs Babcock’s!” she exclaimed. “Kindly leave Cunnie out of it, Mrs Bedley,” Mrs Montgomery begged. “So it’s Cunnie already you call him!” “Dr Cuncliffe and I scarcely meet.” “People talk of the immense sameness of marriage, Mrs Montgomery; but all the same, my dear, a widow’s not much to be envied.” “There are times, it’s true, Mrs Bedley, when a woman feels she needs fostering; but it’s a feeling she should try to fight against.” “Ah my dear, I never could resist _a mon_!” Mrs Bedley exclaimed. Mrs Montgomery sighed. “Once,” she murmured meditatively, “men (those procurers of delights) engaged me utterly.... I was their _slave_.... Now.... One does not burn one’s fingers twice, Mrs Bedley.” Mrs Bedley grew introspective. “My poor husband sometimes would be a little frightening, a little fierce ... at night, my dear, especially. Yet how often now I miss him!” “You’re better off as you are, Mrs Bedley, believe me,” Mrs Montgomery declared, looking round for the little prince who was amusing himself on the library-steps. “You must find him a handful to educate, my dear.” “It will be a relief _indeed_, Mrs Bedley, when he goes to Eton!” “I’m told so long as a boy is grounded....” “His English accent is excellent, Mrs Bedley, and he shews quite a talent for languages,” Mrs Montgomery assured. “I’m delighted, I’m sure, to hear it!”