"Devonshire people are all consumptive," she said decisively. "Are they?" "Yes, it's the mild damp air. They have lovely complexions; like the Irish. There must be any amount of consumption in Ireland." "I suppose there is." Miriam sat silent and still watching Mag's movements as she sipped and puffed, so strangely easy and so strangely wistful in her wonderful rich Bloomsbury life--and waiting for her next remark. "You look very happy tonight child; what have you been doing?" "Nothing." "You look as happy as a bird." "Are birds happy?" "Of _course_ birds are happy." "Well--they prey on each other--and they're often frightened." "How wise we are." Brisk steps sounded on the little stairs. "Tell me what you have been doing." "Oh. I don't know. Weird things have been happening.... Oh, weird things." "Tell your aunt at once." Mag gathered herself together as the brisk footsteps came into the room. "Hoh" said a strong resonant voice "it's the Henderson. I thought as much." "Yes. Doesn't she look pretty?" "Yes--she has a beautiful lace tie." "I wish I could wear things like that round my neck, don't you von Bohlen?" "I _do_. She can stick _anything_ round her neck--and look nice." "Anything; a garter or a--a _kipper_...." "Don't be so cracked." "She says weird things have been happening to her. I say I didn't make any coffee for you and the spirit lamp wants filling." "Damn you--Schweinhund--verfluchte Schweinhund." Miriam had been gazing at the strong square figure in the short round fur-lined cloak and sweeping velvet hat, the firm decisive movements and imagining the delicate pointed high-heeled shoes. Presently those things would be off and the door closed on the three of them. "There's some Bass." "I'm going to have some suppe. Have some suppe, Henderson." "Non, merci." "She's proud. Bring her some. What did you have for supper, child?" "Oh, we had an enormous lunch. They'd had a dinner-party." "What did you have for supper?" "Oh lots of things." "Bring her some suppe. I'm not sure I won't have a basin myself." "All right. I'll put some on." The brisk steps went off and a voice hummed in and out of the other rooms. Watching Mag stirring the fire, giving a last pull at her cigarette end and pushing back the hair from her face ... silent and old and ravaged, and young and animated and powerful, Miriam blushed and beamed silently at her reiterated demands for an account of herself. "I say I saw an extraordinary woman downstairs." Mag turned sharply and put down the poker. "Yes?" "In a petticoat." "Frederika Elizabeth! She's seen the Pierson!"