"All your fault," retorted Mrs. Hauksbee, "for suggesting such a thing as my abdication. No! Jamais-Nevaire! I will act, dance, ride, frivol, talk scandal, dine out, and appropriate the legitimate captives of any woman I choose, until I d-r-r-rop, or a better woman than I puts me to shame before all Simlaand it's dust and ashes in my mouth while I'm doing it!"
She dashed into the drawing-room. Mrs. Mallowe followed and put an arm round her waist.
"I'm not!" said Mrs. Hauksbee defiantly, rummaging in the bosom of her dress for her handkerchief. "I've been dining out for the last ten nights, and rehearsing in the afternoons. You'd be tired yourself. It's only because I'm tired."
Mrs. Mallowe did not at once overwhelm Mrs. Hauksbee with spoken pity or ask her to lie down. She knew her friend too well. Handing her another cup of tea, she went on with the conversation.
"I've been through that too, dear," she said.
"I remember," said Mrs. Hauksbee, a gleam of fun on her face. "In '84 wasn't it? You went out a great deal less next season."
Mrs. Mallowe smiled in a superior and Sphinx-like fashion.
"I became an Influence," said she.
"Good gracious, child, you didn't join the Theosophists and kiss Buddha's big toe, did you? I tried to get into their set once, but they cast me out for a sceptic—without a chance of improving my poor little mind, too."
"No, I didn't Theosophilander. Jack says"
"Never mind Jack. What did you do?"
"I made a lasting impression."
"So have I—for four months. But that didn't console me in the least. I hated the man. Will you stop smiling in that inscrutable way and tell me what you mean?"
Mrs. Mallowe told. ••••••••••
