though they too were very clever men interested in Egyptology, the
business took some time.

At last Mrs. Flushing sought her diary for help, the method of reckoning
dates on the fingers proving unsatisfactory. She opened and shut every
drawer in her writing-table, and then cried furiously, "Yarmouth!
Yarmouth! Drat the woman! She's always out of the way when she's
wanted!"

At this moment the luncheon gong began to work itself into its midday
frenzy. Mrs. Flushing rang her bell violently. The door was opened by a
handsome maid who was almost as upright as her mistress.

"Oh, Yarmouth," said Mrs. Flushing, "just find my diary and see where
ten days from now would bring us to, and ask the hall porter how many
men 'ud be wanted to row eight people up the river for a week, and
what it 'ud cost, and put it on a slip of paper and leave it on my
dressing-table. Now--" she pointed at the door with a superb forefinger
so that Rachel had to lead the way.

"Oh, and Yarmouth," Mrs. Flushing called back over her shoulder. "Put
those things away and hang 'em in their right places, there's a good
girl, or it fusses Mr. Flushin'."

To all of which Yarmouth merely replied, "Yes, ma'am."

As they entered the long dining-room it was obvious that the day was
still Sunday, although the mood was slightly abating. The Flushings'
table was set by the side in the window, so that Mrs. Flushing could
scrutinise each figure as it entered, and her curiosity seemed to be
intense.

"Old Mrs. Paley," she whispered as the wheeled chair slowly made its way
through the door, Arthur pushing behind. "Thornburys" came next. "That
nice woman," she nudged Rachel to look at Miss Allan. "What's her name?"
The painted lady who always came in late, tripping into the room with
a prepared smile as though she came out upon a stage, might well
have quailed before Mrs. Flushing's stare, which expressed her steely
hostility to the whole tribe of painted ladies. Next came the two young
men whom Mrs. Flushing called collectively the Hirsts. They sat down
opposite, across the gangway.

Mr. Flushing treated his wife with a mixture of admiration and
indulgence, making up by the suavity and fluency of his speech for the
abruptness of hers. While she darted and ejaculated he gave Rachel a
sketch of the history of South American art. He would deal with one
of his wife's exclamations, and then return as smoothly as ever to his
theme. He knew very well how to make a l