d. They
toil not, neither do they spin. The man Vida had rescued from Mrs.
Graham Townley was, when in the society of women, so accustomed to
seeing them take on themselves the onus of entertainment, was himself so
unused to being at the smallest trouble, that when the 'Order' was
exhausted, had Vida not invented another topic, there would have been an
absolute cessation of all converse till Mrs. Graham Townley had again
caught him up like a big reluctant fish on the hook of interrogation. At
a reproachful aside from Lord Borrodaile, Miss Levering broke off in the
middle of her second subject to substitute, 'But I am monopolizing you
disgracefully,' and she half turned away from the eminent politician
into whose slightly flushed face and humid eyes had come something like
animation.

'Not at all. Not at all. Go on.'

'No, I've gone far enough. Do you realize that we left "Orders" and
"Honours" half an hour ago, and ever since we've been talking scandal?'

'Criticizing life,' he amended--'a pursuit worthy of two philosophers.'

'I did it--' said the lady, with an air of half-amused discontent with
herself; 'you know why I did it.'

He met her eye, and the faint motion that indicated the woman on his
other side. 'Terrible person,' he whispered. 'She goes out to dine as a
soldier goes into action.'

For the next few minutes they made common cause in heaping ridicule on
'the political woman.'

'But, after all'--Vida pulled herself up--'it may be only a case of
sour grapes on my part. I'm afraid _my_ conversation is inclined to be
frivolous.'

He turned and gave her her reward--the feeling smile that says, '_Thank
God!_' But, strangely, it did not reflect itself in the woman's face.
Something quite different there, lurking under the soft gaiety. Was
it consciousness of this being the second time during the evening
that she had employed the too common vaunt of the woman of that particular
world? Did some ironic echo reach her of that same boast (often as
mirthless and as pitiful as the painted smile on the cruder face), the
'I'm afraid I'm rather frivolous' of the well-to-do woman, whose
frivolity--invaluable asset!--is beginning to show wear?

'Well, to return to our mutton,' he said; and, as his companion seemed
suddenly to be overtaken by some unaccountable qualm, 'What a desert
life would be,' he added encouragingly, 'if we couldn't talk to the
discreet about the indiscreet.'

'I wonder if there wouldn't be s