ghdad?" he feebly asked.

The fat man did not answer; he had begun an anecdote, and in his broad
expanse of face his tiny mouth writhed like a caterpillar. The anecdote
was humorous.

With the exception of Antonia, Shelton saw but little of the ladies,
for, following the well-known custom of the country house, men and
women avoided each other as much as might be. They met at meals,
and occasionally joined in tennis and in croquet; otherwise it
seemed--almost Orientally--agreed that they were better kept apart.

Chancing one day to enter the withdrawing room, while searching for
Antonia, he found that he had lighted on a feminine discussion; he would
have beaten a retreat, of course, but it seemed too obvious that he was
merely looking for his fiancee, so, sitting down, he listened.

The Honourable Charlotte Penguin, still knitting a silk tie--the sixth
since that she had been knitting at Hyeres--sat on the low window-seat
close to a hydrangea, the petals of whose round flowers almost kissed
her sanguine cheek. Her eyes were fixed with languid aspiration on the
lady who was speaking. This was a square woman of medium height, with
grey hair brushed from her low forehead, the expression of whose
face was brisk and rather cross. She was standing with a book, as if
delivering a sermon. Had she been a man she might have been described
as a bright young man of business; for, though grey, she never could be
old, nor ever lose the power of forming quick decisions. Her features
and her eyes were prompt and slightly hard, tinged with faith fanatical
in the justice of her judgments, and she had that fussy simpleness of
dress which indicates the right to meddle. Not red, not white, neither
yellow nor quite blue, her complexion was suffused with a certain
mixture of these colours, adapted to the climate; and her smile had a
strange sour sweetness, like nothing but the flavour of an apple on the
turn.

"I don't care what they tell you," she was saying--not offensively,
though her voice seemed to imply that she had no time to waste in
pleasing--"in all my dealings with them I've found it best to treat them
quite like children."

A lady, behind the Times, smiled; her mouth--indeed, her whole hard,
handsome face--was reminiscent of dappled rocking-horses found in the
Soho Bazaar. She crossed her feet, and some rich and silk stuff rustled.
Her whole personality seemed to creak as, without looking, she answered
in harsh tones:

"I