notion of a salon. It seemed so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do something."
"Why? Are not Abana and Pharphar?"
"Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I'm tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight pic-nic at Seepee to the blandishments of The Mussuck."
"Yes—that comes too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to make your bow yet?"
Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. "I think I see myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall:—'Mrs. Hauksbee! Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice!' No more dances, no more rides, no more luncheons; no more theatricals with supper to follow; no more sparring with one's dearest, dearest friend; no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit enough to clothe what he's pleased to call his sentiments in passable speech; no more parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarcass calls all round Simla, spreading horrible stories about me! No more of anything that is thoroughly wearying, abominable and detestable, but, all the same, makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt, Polly, I'm inspired. A mauve and white striped 'cloud' round my venerable shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both horses sold. Delightful vision! A comfortable arm-chair, situated in three different draughts, at every ball-room; and nice, large, sensible shoes for all the couples to stumble over as they go into the verandah! Then at supper. Can't you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone away. Reluctant subaltern, pink all over, like a newly-powdered baby—they really ought to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly—sent back by the hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room, tugging at a glove two sizes too large for him—I hate a man who wears gloves like overcoats—and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from the first. 'May I ah-have the pleasure 'f takin'
