“Why are you laughing?” Robin Pierce asked rather harshly. “You didn’t hear what Lady Manby said.” “No, but Fritz is so infectious. I believe there are laughter microbes. What a noise he makes! It’s really a scandal.” And she laughed again joyously. “You don’t know much about women if you think any story of Lady Manby’s is necessary, to prompt my mirth. Poor dear old Fritz is quite enough. There he goes again!” Robin Pierce began to look stiff with constraint, and just then Sir Donald Ulford, in his progress round the walls, reached the sofa where they were sitting. “You are very fortunate to possess this Cuyp, Lady Holme,” he said in a voice from which all resonance had long ago departed. “Alas, Sir Donald, cows distress me! They call up sad memories. I was chased by one in the park at Grantoun when I was a child. A fly had stung it, so it tried to kill me. This struck me as unreason run riot, and ever since then I have wished the Spaniards would go a step farther and make cow-fights the national pastime. I hate cows frankly.” Sir Donald sat down in an armchair and looked, with his faded blue eyes, into the eyes of his hostess. His drawn yellow face was melancholy, like the face of one who had long been an invalid. People who knew him well, however, said there was nothing the matter with him, and that his appearance had not altered during the last twenty years. “You can hate nothing beautiful,” he said with a sort of hollow assurance. “I think cows hideous.” “Cuyp’s?” “All cows. You’ve never had one running after you.” She took up her gloves, which she had laid down on the table beside her, and began to pull them gently through her fingers. Both Sir Donald and Robin looked at her hands, which were not only beautiful in shape but extraordinarily intelligent in their movements. Whatever they did they did well, without hesitation or bungling. Nobody had ever seen them tremble. “Do you consider that anything that can be dangerous for a moment must be hideous for ever?” asked Sir Donald, after a slight pause. “I’m sure I don’t know. But I truly think cows hideous--I truly do.” “Don’t put on your gloves,” exclaimed Robin at this moment. Sir Donald glanced at him and said: “Thank you.” “Why not?” said Lady Holme. It was obvious to both men that there was no need to answer her question. She laid the gloves in her lap, smoothed them with her small fingers, and kept silence. Silence was characteristic of her. When she was in society she sometimes sat quite calmly and composedly without uttering a word. After watching her for a minute or two, Sir Donald said: “You must know Venice very well and understand it completely.” “Oh, I’ve been there, of course.” “Recently?” “Not so very long ago. After my marriage Fritz took me all over Europe.” “And you loved Venice.” Sir Donald did not ask a question, he made a statement. “No. It didn’t agree with me. It depressed me. We were there in the mosquito season.”