"Mamma has never mentioned the subject to me," said Lady Queenie in response to a question, looking at her rich muff. "This is a question of principle," said somebody sharply, implying that at last individual consciences were involved and that the opinions of the Marchioness of Lechford had ceased to weigh. "I'm afraid it's getting late," said the impassive chairman. "We must come to some decision." In the voting Lady Queenie, after hesitation, raised her hand with the disciplinarians. By one vote the libertarians were defeated, and the dalliance of the hospital staff in leisure hours received a severe check. "She _would_--of course!" breathed a sharp-nosed little woman in the chair next but one to G.J., gazing inimically at the lax mouth and cynical eyes of Lady Queenie, who for four years had been the subject of universal whispering, and some shouting, and one or two ferocious battles in London. Chair-legs scraped. People rose here and there to go as they rise in a music hall after the Scottish comedian has retired, bowing, from his final encore. They protested urgent appointments elsewhere. The chairman remarked that other important decisions yet remained to be taken; but his voice had no insistence because he had already settled the decisions in his own mind. G.J. seized the occasion to depart. "Mr. Hoape," the chairman detained him a moment. "The committee hope you will allow yourself to be nominated to the accounts sub-committee. We understand that you are by way of being an expert. The sub-committee meets on Wednesday mornings at eleven--doesn't it, Sir Charles?" "Half-past," said Sir Charles. "Oh! Half-past." G.J., somewhat surprised to learn of his expertise in accountancy, consented to the suggestion, which renewed his resolution, impaired somewhat by the experience of the meeting, to be of service in the world. "You will receive the notice, of course," said the chairman. Down below, just as G.J. was getting away with Christine's chrysanthemums in their tissue paper, Lady Queenie darted out of the lift opposite. It was she who, at Concepcion's instigation, had had him put in the committee. "I say, Queen," he said with a casual air--on account of the flowers, "who's been telling 'em I know about accounts?" "I did." "Why?" "Why?" she said maliciously. "Don't you keep an account of every penny you spend?" (It was true.) Here was a fair example of her sardonic and unscrupulous humour--a humour not of words but of acts. G.J. simply tossed his head, aware of the futility of expostulation. She went on in a different tone: "You were the first to see Connie?" "Yes," he said sadly.