itful! And about Mr. Wilkins. Wives were really
pathetic.

At half-past four she heard sounds of saucers on the other side
of the daphne bushes. Was tea being sent out to her?

No; the sounds came no closer, they stopped near the house. Tea
was to be in the garden, in her garden. Scrap considered she might at
least have been asked if she minded being disturbed. They all knew she
sat there.

Perhaps some one would bring hers to her in her corner.

No; nobody brought anything.

Well, she was too hungry not to go and have it with the others
to-day, but she would give Francesca strict orders for the future.

She got up, and walked with that slow grace which was another of
her outrageous number of attractions towards the sounds of tea. She
was conscious not only of being very hungry but of wanting to talk to
Mrs. Wilkins again. Mrs. Wilkins had not grabbed, she had left her
quite free all day in spite of the rapprochement the night before. Of
course she was an original, and put on a silk jumper for dinner, but
she hadn't grabbed. This was a great thing. Scrap went towards the
tea-table quite looking forward to Mrs. Wilkins; and when she came in
sight of it she saw only Mrs. Fisher and Mrs. Arbuthnot.

Mrs. Fisher was pouring out the tea, and Mrs. Arbuthnot was
offering Mrs. Fisher macaroons. Every time Mrs. Fisher offered Mrs.
Arbuthnot anything--her cup, or milk, or sugar--Mrs. Arbuthnot offered
her macaroons--pressed them on her with an odd assiduousness, almost
with obstinacy. Was it a game? Scrap wondered, sitting down and
seizing a macaroon.

"Where is Mrs. Wilkins?" asked Scrap.

They did not know. At least, Mrs. Arbuthnot, on Scrap's inquiry,
did not know; Mrs. Fisher's face, at the name, became elaborately
uninterested.

It appeared that Mrs. Wilkins had not been seen since breakfast.
Mrs. Arbuthnot thought she had probably gone for a picnic. Scrap
missed her. She ate the enormous macaroons, the best and biggest she
had ever come across, in silence. Tea without Mrs. Wilkins was dull;
and Mrs. Arbuthnot had that fatal flavour of motherliness about her, of
wanting to pet one, to make one very comfortable, coaxing one to eat--
coaxing her, who was already so frankly, so even excessively, eating--
that seemed to have dogged Scrap's steps through life. Couldn't people
leave one alone? She was perfectly able to eat what she wanted
unincited. She tried to quench Mrs. Arbuthnot's zeal by bei