always depends upon the capacity of the cook who cooked her last meal. But mine is not like that. I rather wish I did know what mine really does depend upon, though perhaps if there was anything dependable about it, it might make one lose interest in one's self. It's just the variety that is so fascinating. When people say, 'Ah, so-and-so is so charming—always the same, you know,' I at once think how very dull that so-and-so must be. Now that variety, contrariness, never-know-your-luck sort of feeling about women is just what appeals to the born gamblers that all men really are. They never know what a woman is going to do next, and that keeps the interest going. Just take my advice if you really want to hook a man, and just be as variable as ever you can. Look at him for five minutes as if there was nobody else in the world, and talk like it too. Then suddenly get pensive as if you were thinking of another 'him' far away. Then brighten up and beam on any other 'him' you find handy—but this must be done with care and skill, with a glance out of the corner of your eye upon the real 'him,' lest you go too far and put him off. But, I forgot, I'm driving home along the Bombay streets with the Major, very cross and grumpy.
I'm bound to say Major Street has an angelic temper. But I guess it isn't quite the thing for a man to be rude to a woman, and it's partly that. I always do think that we take advantage of men that way. We treat them anyhow because we know they can't answer back. Now, we're ever so much
