“There is no limit to the treachery of youth! I ordered the Hawley Boy, as he valued my patronage, not to call. The first person I stumble over--literally stumble over--in her poky, dark, little drawing-room is, of course, the Hawley Boy. She kept us waiting ten minutes, and then emerged as though he had been tipped out of the dirty-clothes basket. You know my way, dear, when I am all put out. I was Superior, crrrushingly Superior! 'Lifted my eyes to Heaven, and had heard of nothing--'dropped my eyes on the carpet and 'really didn't know'--'played with my cardcase and 'supposed so.' The Hawley Boy giggled like a girl, and I had to freeze him with scowls between the sentences.” “And she?” “She sat in a heap on the edge of a couch, and managed to convey the impression that she was suffering from stomach-ache, at the very least. It was all I could do not to ask after her symptoms. When I rose she grunted just like a buffalo in the water--too lazy to move.” “Are you certain?”-- “Am I blind, Polly? Laziness, sheer laziness, nothing else--or her garments were only constructed for sitting down in. I stayed for a quarter of an hour trying to penetrate the gloom, to guess what her surroundings were like, while she stuck out her tongue.” “Lu--cy!” “Well--I'll withdraw the tongue, though I'm sure if she didn't do it when I was in the room, she did the minute I was outside. At any rate, she lay in a lump and grunted. Ask the Hawley Boy, dear. I believe the grunts were meant for sentences, but she spoke so indistinctly that I can't swear to it.” “You are incorrigible, simply.” “I am not! Treat me civilly, give me peace with honor, don't put the only available seat facing the window, and a child may eat jam in my lap before Church. But I resent being grunted at. Wouldn't you? Do you suppose that she communicates her views on life and love to The Dancing Master in a set of modulated 'Grmphs'?” “You attach too much importance to The Dancing Master.” “He came as we went, and The Dowd grew almost cordial at the sight of him. He smiled greasily, and moved about that darkened dog-kennel in a suspiciously familiar way.” “Don't be uncharitable. Any sin but that I'll forgive.” “Listen to the voice of History. I am only describing what I saw. He entered, the heap on the sofa revived slightly, and the Hawley Boy and I came away together. He is disillusioned, but I felt it my duty to lecture him severely for going there. And that's all.” “Now for Pity's sake leave the wretched creature and The Dancing Master alone. They never did you any harm.” “No harm? To dress as an example and a stumbling-block for half Simla, and then to find this Person who is dressed by the hand of God--not that I wish to disparage Him for a moment, but you know the tikka-dhurzie way He attires those lilies of the field--this Person draws the eyes of men--and some of them nice men? It's almost enough to make one discard clothing. I told the Hawley Boy so.”