"Polly, don't be Rabelaisian!"
Mrs. Mallowe curled herself up comfortably on the sofa and turned her attention to the sweets. She and Mrs. Hauksbee shared the same house at Simla; and these things befell two seasons after the matter of Otis Yeere which has been already recorded.
Mrs. Hauksbee stepped into the verandah and looked down upon the Mall, her forehead puckered with thought.
"Hah!" said Mrs. Hauksbee shortly.
"Indeed!"
"What is it?" said Mrs. Mallowe sleepily.
"That dowd and The Dancing Master—to whom I object."
"Why to The Dancing Master? He is a middle-aged gentleman, of reprobate and romantic tendencies, and tries to be a friend of mine."
"Then make up your mind to lose him. Dowds cling by nature, and I should imagine that this animal—how terrible her bonnet looks from above!—-is especially clingsome."
"She is welcome to the Dancing Master so far as I am concerned. I never could take an interest in a monotonous liar. The frustrated aim of his life is to persuade people that he is a bachelor."
"O-oh! I think I've met that sort of thing before. And isn't he?"
"No. He confided that to me a few days ago. Ugh! Some men ought to be killed."
"What happened then?"
"He posed as the horror of horrors—a misunderstood man. Heaven knows the femme incomprise is sad enough and bad enough—but the other thing!"
"And so fat, too. I should have laughed in his face. Men seldom confide in me. How is it they come to you!"
"For the sake of impressing me with their careers in the past. Protect me from men with confidences!"
"And yet you encourage them?"
"What can I do? They talk, I listen; and they vow that I am sympathetic. I know I always profess astonishment even when the plot is—of the most old possible.
