She reopened it herself in the long drawing-room into which they both drifted after Sir Isaac had washed the mould from his hands. She went to a French window, gathered courage, it seemed, by a brief contemplation of the garden, and turned with a little effort. “I don’t agree,” she said, “with you about Lady Beach-Mandarin.” Sir Isaac appeared surprised. He had assumed the incident was closed. “_How?_” he asked compactly. “I don’t agree,” said Lady Harman. “She seems friendly and jolly.” “She’s a Holy Terror,” said Sir Isaac. “I’ve seen her twice, Lady Harman.” “A call of that kind,” his wife went on, “—when there are cards left and so on—has to be returned.” “You won’t,” said Sir Isaac. Lady Harman took a blind-tassel in her hand,—she felt she had to hold on to something. “In any case,” she said, “I should have to do that.” “In any case?” She nodded. “It would be ridiculous not to. We——It is why we know so few people—because we don’t return calls....” Sir Isaac paused before answering. “We don’t _want_ to know a lot of people,” he said. “And, besides——Why! anybody could make us go running about all over London calling on them, by just coming and calling on us. No sense in it. She’s come and she’s gone, and there’s an end of it.” “No,” said Lady Harman, gripping her tassel more firmly. “I shall have to return that call.” “I tell you, you won’t.” “It isn’t only a call,” said Lady Harman. “You see, I promised to go there to lunch.” “Lunch!” “And to go to a meeting with her.” “Go to a meeting!” “—of a society called the Social Friends. And something else. Oh! to go to the committee meetings of her Shakespear Dinners Movement.” “I’ve heard of that.” “She said you supported it—or else of course....” Sir Isaac restrained himself with difficulty. “Well,” he said at last, “you’d better write and tell her you can’t do any of these things; that’s all.” He thrust his hands into his trousers pockets and walked to the French window next to the one in which she stood, with an air of having settled this business completely, and being now free for the tranquil contemplation of horticulture. But Lady Harman had still something to say. “I am going to _all_ these things,” she said. “I said I would, and I will.” He didn’t seem immediately to hear her. He made the little noise with his teeth that was habitual to him. Then he came towards her. “This is your infernal sister,” he said. Lady Harman reflected. “No,” she decided. “It’s myself.” “I might have known when we asked her here,” said Sir Isaac with an habitual disregard of her judgments that was beginning to irritate her more and more. “You can’t take on all these people. They’re not the sort of people we want to know.” “I want to know them,” said Lady Harman. “I don’t.” “I find them interesting,” Lady Harman said. “And I’ve promised.” “Well you oughtn’t to have promised without consulting me.”