Polly, I'd never forgive that woman as long as the world rolls."
"I forgive every woman everything," said Mrs. Mallowe. "He will be a sufficient punishment for her. What a common voice she has!"
Mrs. Delville's voice was not pretty, her carriage was even less lovely, and her raiment was strikingly neglected. All these facts Mrs. Mallowe absorbed over the top of a magazine.
"Now, what is there in her?" said Mrs. Hauksbee. "Do you see what I meant about the clothes falling off? If I were a man I would perish sooner than be seen with that rag-bag. And yet, she has good eyes but—oh!"
"What is it?"
"She doesn't know how to use them! On my honour she does not. Look! Oh, look! Untidiness I can endure, but ignorance never! The woman's a fool."
"Hsh! She'll hear you."
"All the women in Simla are fools. She'll think I mean some one else. Now she's going out. What a thoroughly objectionable couple she and The Dancing Master make! Which reminds me. Do you suppose they'll ever dance together?"
"Wait and see. I don't envy her the conversation of The Dancing Master—loathely man! His wife ought to be up here before long?"
"Do you know anything about him?"
"Only what he told me. It may be all a fiction. He married a girl bred in the country, I think, and, being an honourable, chivalrous soul, told me that he repented his bargain and sent her to her mother as often as possible—a person who has lived in the Doon since the memory of man and goes to Mussoorie when other people go home. The wife is with her at present. So he says."
"Babies?"
"One only, but he talks of his wife in a revolting way. I hated him for it. He thought he was being epigrammatic and brilliant."
