should let her illusions get the better of her tact, I do hope you two will help change the subject."
Mrs. Windrom enjoyed conspiracies. "You may count on me, my dear," she replied. "Now I must run up and see if my husband has lost his collar buttons as usual."
Mrs. Windrom looked at the clock on the drawing-room mantle, crossed to a window to watch the retreating figures of Louise and Dare, then went towards the great square hall with its rough rafters and balcony, its shining floor, fur rugs and trophies of Keble's marksmanship. For no ulterior reason, but simply because she could not resist an open door, she peeked into the dining-room, then walked upstairs.
She had timed her visit to a nicety. Her husband's tie was being made into a lopsided bow.
"Sore?" he asked, when she had straightened it.
"A little. But I'm used to western saddles. Madame Mornay-Mareuil has suddenly turned up. Louise is in a panic. For heaven's sake don't talk politics. I can't see why you leave the cuff buttons till after you've got your shirt on. It's so simple to put them in beforehand."
"Simple, old girl; I just forget, that's all."
"What I can't make out . . . now I've bent my nail! . . . is Louise's treatment of Keble."
"What treatment?"
"I mean she ignores him."
"Have you seen my other pump?"
