sters," Mrs. Flushing continued. "His pictures
excite me--nothin' that's old excites me."

"But even his pictures will become old," Mrs. Thornbury intervened.

"Then I'll have 'em burnt, or I'll put it in my will," said Mrs.
Flushing.

"And Mrs. Flushing lived in one of the most beautiful old houses in
England--Chillingley," Mrs. Thornbury explained to the rest of them.

"If I'd my way I'd burn that to-morrow," Mrs. Flushing laughed. She had
a laugh like the cry of a jay, at once startling and joyless.

"What does any sane person want with those great big houses?" she
demanded. "If you go downstairs after dark you're covered with black
beetles, and the electric lights always goin' out. What would you do
if spiders came out of the tap when you turned on the hot water?" she
demanded, fixing her eye on Helen.

Mrs. Ambrose shrugged her shoulders with a smile.

"This is what I like," said Mrs. Flushing. She jerked her head at the
Villa. "A little house in a garden. I had one once in Ireland. One could
lie in bed in the mornin' and pick roses outside the window with one's
toes."

"And the gardeners, weren't they surprised?" Mrs. Thornbury enquired.

"There were no gardeners," Mrs. Flushing chuckled. "Nobody but me and
an old woman without any teeth. You know the poor in Ireland lose their
teeth after they're twenty. But you wouldn't expect a politician to
understand that--Arthur Balfour wouldn't understand that."

Ridley sighed that he never expected any one to understand anything,
least of all politicians.

"However," he concluded, "there's one advantage I find in extreme old
age--nothing matters a hang except one's food and one's digestion. All
I ask is to be left alone to moulder away in solitude. It's obvious that
the world's going as fast as it can to--the Nethermost Pit, and all I
can do is to sit still and consume as much of my own smoke as possible."
He groaned, and with a melancholy glance laid the jam on his bread, for
he felt the atmosphere of this abrupt lady distinctly unsympathetic.

"I always contradict my husband when he says that," said Mrs. Thornbury
sweetly. "You men! Where would you be if it weren't for the women!"

"Read the _Symposium_," said Ridley grimly.

"_Symposium_?" cried Mrs. Flushing. "That's Latin or Greek? Tell me, is
there a good translation?"

"No," said Ridley. "You will have to learn Greek."

Mrs. Flushing cried, "Ah, ah, ah! I'd rather break stones in the road. I
alway