ng-ground for
naked truths and over-dressed fictions, and it was here, the Woman felt,
that she might make a final effort to recall the artless mendacity of
past days. Madame herself was in an inspiring mood, with the air of a
sphinx who knew all things and preferred to forget most of them. As a
War Minister she might have been celebrated, but she was content to be
merely rich.

"If I take it in here, and--Miss Howard, one moment, if you please--and
there, and round like this--so--I really think you will find it quite
easy."

The Woman hesitated; it seemed to require such a small effort to simply
acquiesce in Madame's views. But habit had become too strong. "I'm
afraid," she faltered, "it's just the least little bit in the world too"--

And by that least little bit she measured the deeps and eternities of her
thraldom to fact. Madame was not best pleased at being contradicted on a
professional matter, and when Madame lost her temper you usually found it
afterwards in the bill.

And at last the dreadful thing came, as the Woman had foreseen all along
that it must; it was one of those paltry little truths with which she
harried her waking hours. On a raw Wednesday morning, in a few
ill-chosen words, she told the cook that she drank. She remembered the
scene afterwards as vividly as though it had been painted in her mind by
Abbey. The cook was a good cook, as cooks go; and as cooks go she went.

Miriam Klopstock came to lunch the next day. Women and elephants never
forget an injury.

REGINALD'S DRAMA

Reginald closed his eyes with the elaborate weariness of one who has
rather nice eyelashes and thinks it useless to conceal the fact.

"One of these days," he said, "I shall write a really great drama. No
one will understand the drift of it, but everyone will go back to their
homes with a vague feeling of dissatisfaction with their lives and
surroundings. Then they will put up new wall-papers and forget."

"But how about those that have oak panelling all over the house?" said
the Other.

"They can always put down new stair-carpets," pursued Reginald, "and,
anyhow, I'm not responsible for the audience having a happy ending. The
play would be quite sufficient strain on one's energies. I should get a
bishop to say it was immoral and beautiful--no dramatist has thought of
that before, and everyone would come to condemn the bishop, and they
would stay on out of sheer nervousness. After all, it req