ish, so suggestive of the Royal Family, made her look more than ever like something on the Halls.
"What have you been doing all this time?" she asked.
"Well," said Denis, and he hesitated, almost voluptuously. He had a tremendously amusing account of London and its doings all ripe and ready in his mind. It would be a pleasure to give it utterance. "To begin with," he said . . .
But he was too late. Mrs. Wimbush's question had been what the grammarians call rhetorical; it asked for no answer. It was a little conversational flourish, a gambit in the polite game.
"You find me busy at my horoscopes," she said, without even being aware that she had interrupted him.
A little pained, Denis decided to reserve his story for more receptive ears. He contented himself, by way of revenge, with saying "Oh?" rather icily.
"Did I tell you how I won four hundred on the Grand National this year?"
"Yes," he replied, still frigid and monosyllabic. She must have told him at least six times.
"Wonderful, isn't it? Everything is
