“And what did that sweet youth do?” “Turned shell-pink and looked across the far blue hills like a distressed cherub. Am I talking wildly, Polly? Let me say my say, and I shall be calm. Otherwise I may go abroad and disturb Simla with a few original reflections. Excepting always your own sweet self, there isn't a single woman in the land who understands me when I am--what's the word?” “Tete-Fele'e,” suggested Mrs. Mallowe. “Exactly! And now let us have tiffin. The demands of Society are exhausting, and as Mrs. Delville says”--Here Mrs. Hauksbee, to the horror of the khitmatgars, lapsed into a series of grunts, while Mrs. Mallowe stared in lazy surprise. “'God gie us a gude conceit of oorselves,'” said Mrs. Hauksbee, piously, returning to her natural speech. “Now, in any other woman that would have been vulgar. I am consumed with curiosity to see Mrs. Bent. I expect complications.” “Woman of one idea,” said Mrs. Mallowe, shortly; “all complications are as old as the hills! I have lived through or near all--all--ALL!” “And yet do not understand that men and women never behave twice alike. I am old who was young--if ever I put my head in your lap, you dear, big sceptic, you will learn that my parting is gauze--but never, no never have I lost my interest in men and women. Polly, I shall see this business Out to the bitter end.” “I am going to sleep,” said Mrs. Mallowe, calmly. “I never interfere with men or women unless I am compelled,” and she retired with dignity to her own room. Mrs. Hauksbee's curiosity was not long left ungratified, for Mrs. Bent came up to Simla a few days after the conversation faithfully reported above, and pervaded the Mall by her husband's side. “Behold!” said Mrs. Hauksbee, thoughtfully rubbing her nose. “That is the last link of the chain, if we omit the husband of the Delville, whoever he may be. Let me consider. The Bents and the Delvilles inhabit the same hotel; and the Delville is detested by the Waddy--do you know the Waddy?--who is almost as big a dowd. The Waddy also abominates the male Bent, for which, if her other sins do not weigh too heavily, she will eventually be caught up to Heaven.” “Don't be irreverent,” said Mrs. Mallowe. “I like Mrs. Bent's face.” “I am discussing the Waddy,” returned Mrs. Hauksbee, loftily. “The Waddy will take the female Bent apart, after having borrowed--yes!--everything that she can, from hairpins to babies' bottles. Such, my dear, is life in a hotel. The Waddy will tell the female Bent facts and fictions about The Dancing Master and The Dowd.” “Lucy, I should like you better if you were not always looking into people's back bedrooms.”