y word applicable to
Mrs. Arbuthnot's entry into any room.

She was a large fair woman, very distinctly inclined to stoutness. In her
youth she had been both slender, and quick in her movements; but
recognizing, and rightly, that quickness means a certain loss of dignity
in the stout, she had trained herself to be exceedingly deliberate in her
actions. There was an element of consciousness in her deliberation,
therefore, which gave the impression of a rather large sailing vessel
under weigh.

"Trix, dearest," she began. And then she perceived that Trix had been
observing the weather.

"You were not going out, were you, dearest? I really think it would
hardly be wise. It is blowing quite furiously. I know it is rather dull
for you as you don't play Bridge. Such a pity, too, as you understand it
so well. But I have a suggestion to make. Will you paste some of my
newest prints into the latest album? There is a table in the window in my
room, and a fresh bottle of stickphast. Not in the window, I don't mean
that, but in my trunk. And Maunder can find it for you." Maunder was Mrs.
Arbuthnot's maid.

Trix turned from the window. Of course Mrs. Arbuthnot's request settled
the question of a walk. She had really been in two minds about it.

"Why, of course," she said. "Where are the prints?"

Mrs. Arbuthnot brightened visibly.

"They're inside a green envelope on the writing-table. You'll find a
small pair of very sharp scissors there too. The dark edges are so
unsightly if not trimmed. You're sure you don't mind, dearest? It really
will be quite a pleasant occupation. It is so dreadfully wet. And Maunder
will give you the stickphast. There is clean blotting-paper on the
writing-table too, and Maunder can find you anything else you want. Well,
that's all right. Maunder is in my room now. She will be going to her tea
in ten minutes, so perhaps you might go to her at once. And she is sure
to be downstairs for at least an hour and a half, if not longer. Servants
always have so much to talk about, and take so long saying it. Why, I
can't imagine. It always seems to me so much better not to waste words
unnecessarily. So you will have the room to yourself, till she comes to
put out my evening things. And I must go back to the drawing-room at
once, or they will be waiting Bridge for me. And Lady Fortescue hates
being kept waiting. It puts her in a bad temper, and when she's in a bad
temper she is extraordinarily erratic as to h