ith things I like. Not merely
because I like to think so, but because it is true. Nature knows best, as
she knew when I was a child, and gave me a distaste for fat which always
upset me, and a great appreciation for oranges which doctors are crying
up tremendously nowadays."

Mrs. Arbuthnot sank down in an armchair, and threw back her cloak. Trix
brought the tray to a small table near her.

"And how have you been amusing yourself, dearest? Not dull, I hope? But
the fire and a book are always the best of companions I think, to say
nothing of one's own thoughts, though some people do consider
day-dreaming waste of time. So narrow-minded. They read novels which are
only other people's day-dreams, and their own less expensive, as saving
library subscriptions and the buying of books, besides a certain
superiority in feeling they are your own. On the whole more satisfactory,
too. Even though you know the end before you come to it, it can always be
arranged as you like, and sad or happy to suit your mood. Though for my
part it should always be happy. If you're happy you want it happy, and if
you're not, you still want it to make you. If it weren't for the
difficulty of dividing into chapters, I'd write my own day-dreams, and no
doubt have a big sale. But publishers have an absurd prejudice in favour
of chapters, and even headings, which means an average of thirty titles.
Quite brain-racking. A dear friend of mine who wrote, told me she always
thought the title the most difficult part of a book."

She helped herself to a glass of sherry and two sandwiches as she
concluded her speech.

"And did you really have a pleasant evening?" said Trix, politely
interrogative.

Mrs. Arbuthnot surveyed her sandwich reflectively.

"Well, dearest, on the whole, yes. But unfortunately Mrs. Townsend was
there. An excellent Bridge player, and I am always pleased to see her
myself, but some people are so odd in their manner towards her. Quite
embarrassing really, in fact awkward at times. Absurd, too, with so good
a player. And though her father was a grocer it was in the wholesale
line, which is different from the retail. Besides, she married well, and
doesn't drop her aitches."

Trix's chin went up. "I hate class distinctions being made so horribly
obvious," said she with fine scorn.

Mrs. Arbuthnot looked thoughtful.

"Well, dearest, in Mrs. Townsend's case, perhaps. But not always. I
remember a girl I knew married a farmer. Most foo