of course, always (like
Mary) Goes In First at the solemn and superior dinner parties of that
important place, and is feared, flattered, and fawned upon by the
other ladies of the station, since she can socially put down the
mighty from their seat and exalt the humble and meek and them of low
degree (though she would not be likely to touch the last-named with a
pair of tongs, socially speaking, of course). And yet, such is this
queer world, the said lesser ladies of the famous mofussil station of
Chota Pagalabad are, among themselves, agreed _nemine contradicente_
that the Great Mrs. "Justice" Spywell is a vulgar old frump
("country-bred to say the least of it"), and call her The First Seven
Sister. This curious and unsyntactically expressed epithet alludes to
the fact that she and six other "ladies" of like instincts meet daily
for tea and scandal at the Gymkhana and, for three solid hours, pull
to pieces the reputations of all and sundry their acquaintances,
reminding the amused on-looker, by their voices, manner, and
appearance, of those strange birds the _Sat Bai_ or Seven Sisters, who
in gangs of seven make day hideous in their neighbourhood ...

"Are you going to India to be married, my dear child?" she asked
Lucille, before she knew her name.

"I really don't know," replied Lucille.

"You are not actually engaged, then?"

"I really don't know."

"Oh, of course, if you'd rather keep your own counsel, pray do so,"
snapped the Great Lady, bridling.

"Yes," replied Lucille, and Mrs. Spywell informed her circle of
stereotypes that Lucille was a stupid chit without a word to say for
herself, and an artful designing hussy who was probably an adventuress
of the "fishing-fleet".

To Auntie Yvette it appeared matter of marvel that earth and sky and
sea were much as when she last passed that way. In quarter of a
century or so there appeared to be but little change in the Egyptian
and Arabian deserts, in the mountains of the African and Arabian
coasts, of the Gulf of Suez, in the contours of the islands of the Red
Sea, and of Aden, whilst, in mid-ocean, there was absolutely no
observable difference between then and now. Wonderful indeed!

This theme, that of what was going on at Monksmead, and that of what
to do when Dam was recaptured, formed the bulk of her conversation
with her young companion.

"What will you _do_, dear, when we _have_ found the poor darling boy?"
she would ask.

"Take him by the ear to th