the stories I could tell. You have never guessed, perhaps, at all the
romances that go on in the heart of the country. There are the people,
I feel, among whom Shakespeare will be born if he is ever born again. In
those old houses, up among the Downs--"

"My Aunt," Hirst interrupted, "spends her life in East Lambeth among
the degraded poor. I only quoted my Aunt because she is inclined to
persecute people she calls 'intellectual,' which is what I suspect Miss
Vinrace of doing. It's all the fashion now. If you're clever it's
always taken for granted that you're completely without sympathy,
understanding, affection--all the things that really matter. Oh, you
Christians! You're the most conceited, patronising, hypocritical set of
old humbugs in the kingdom! Of course," he continued, "I'm the first
to allow your country gentlemen great merits. For one thing, they're
probably quite frank about their passions, which we are not. My father,
who is a clergyman in Norfolk, says that there is hardly a squire in the
country who does not--"

"But about Gibbon?" Hewet interrupted. The look of nervous tension which
had come over every face was relaxed by the interruption.

"You find him monotonous, I suppose. But you know--" He opened the book,
and began searching for passages to read aloud, and in a little time he
found a good one which he considered suitable. But there was nothing in
the world that bored Ridley more than being read aloud to, and he was
besides scrupulously fastidious as to the dress and behaviour of ladies.
In the space of fifteen minutes he had decided against Mrs. Flushing on
the ground that her orange plume did not suit her complexion, that she
spoke too loud, that she crossed her legs, and finally, when he saw
her accept a cigarette that Hewet offered her, he jumped up, exclaiming
something about "bar parlours," and left them. Mrs. Flushing was
evidently relieved by his departure. She puffed her cigarette, stuck her
legs out, and examined Helen closely as to the character and reputation
of their common friend Mrs. Raymond Parry. By a series of little
strategems she drove her to define Mrs. Parry as somewhat elderly, by no
means beautiful, very much made up--an insolent old harridan, in short,
whose parties were amusing because one met odd people; but Helen
herself always pitied poor Mr. Parry, who was understood to be shut up
downstairs with cases full of gems, while his wife enjoyed herself
in the drawing-ro