disconcerted ere she withdrew the light of her eyes from him permanently. Being a man of resource, and anything but pleased in that he had been called both old and fat, he gave Mrs. Bent to understand that he had, during her absence in the Boon, been the victim of unceasing persecution at the hands of Mrs. Delville, and he told the tale so often and with such eloquence, that he ended in believing it, while his wife marvelled at the manners and customs of some women. When the situation showed signs of languishing, Mrs. Waddy was always on hand to wake the smouldering fires of suspicion in Mrs. Bent's bosom and to contribute generally to the peace and comfort of the hotel. Mr. Bent's life was not a happy one, for if Mrs. Waddy's story were true, he was, argued his wife, untrustworthy to the last degree. If his own statement were true, his charms of manner and conversation were so great that he needed constant surveillance. And he received it, till he repented genuinely of his marriage and neglected his personal appearance. Mrs. Delville alone in the hotel was unchanged. She removed her chair some six places towards the head of the table, and occasionally in the twilight ventured on timid overtures of friendship to Mrs. Bent, which were repulsed.
"She does it for my sake," hinted the virtuous Bent.
"A dangerous and designing woman," purred Mrs. Waddy.
Worst of all, every other hotel in Simla was full! •••••••••• "Polly, are you afraid of diphtheria?
"Of nothing in the world except small-pox. Diphtheria kills, but it doesn't disfigure. Why do you ask?"
"Because the Bent baby has got it, and the whole hotel is upside down in consequence. The Waddy has set her five young on the rail and fled. The Dancing Master fears for his precious throat, and that miserable little woman, his wife, has no notion of what ought to be done. She wanted to put it into a mustard bath—for croup!"
