difficulty about reconstructing it on the same lines for another
winter
session. It so happened that most of the women of the party,
and two or three of the men, would not be
available on this
occasion, but Reggie had laid his plans well ahead and booked plenty
of "fresh blood" for the
departure. It would be, if any thing,
rather a larger party than before.
"I'm so sorry I can't join this winter," said Reggie's sister-in-
law, "but we must go to our cousins in Ireland; we've put them off
so often. What a shame! You'll have none of the same women this
time."
"Excepting Mrs. Pentherby," said Reggie, demurely.
"Mrs. Pentherby! SURELY, Reggie, you're not going to be so idiotic
as to have that woman again! She'll set all the women's backs up
just as she did this time. What IS this
mysterious hold she's go
over you?"
"She's invaluable," said Reggie; "she's my official quarreller."
"Your--what did you say?" gasped his sister-in-law.
"I introduced her into the house-party for the express purpose of
concentrating the feuds and quarrelling that would
otherwise have
broken out in all directions among the womenkind. I didn't need the
advice and
warning of
sundry friends to
foresee that we shouldn't
get through six months of close
companionship without a certain
amount of pecking and sparring, so I thought the best thing was to
localise and sterilise it in one process. Of course, I made it well
worth the lady's while, and as she didn't know any of you from Adam,
and you don't even know her real name, she didn't mind getting
herself
disliked in a useful cause."
"You mean to say she was in the know all the time?"
"Of course she was, and so were one or two of the men, so she was
able to have a good laugh with us behind the scenes when she'd done
anything particularly
outrageous. And she really enjoyed herself.
You see, she's in the position of poor relation in a rather
pugnacious family, and her life has been largely spent in smoothing
over other people's quarrels. You can imagine the
welcomerelief of
being able to go about
saying and doing
perfectly exasperating
things to a whole houseful of women--and all in the cause of peace."
"I think you are the most
odious person in the whole world," said
Reggie's sister-in-law. Which was not
strictly true; more than
anybody, more than ever she
disliked Mrs. Pentherby. It was
impossible to calculate how many quarrels that woman had done her
out of.
MARK
Augustus Mellowkent was a
novelist with a future; that is to say, a
limited but increasing number of people read his books, and there
seemed good reason to suppose that if he
steadily continued to turn
out novels year by year a progressively increasing
circle of readers
would
acquire the Mellowkent habit, and demand his works from the
libraries and bookstalls. At the instigation of his
publisher he
had discarded the baptismal Augustus and taken the front name of
Mark.
"Women like a name that suggests some one strong and silent, able
but
unwilling to answer questions. Augustus merely suggests idle
splendour, but such a name as Mark Mellowkent, besides being
alliterative, conjures up a
vision of some one strong and beautiful
and good, a sort of blend of Georges Carpentier and the Reverend
What's-his-name."
One morning in December Augustus sat in his writing-room, at work on
the third chapter of his eighth novel. He had described at some
length, for the benefit of those who could not imagine it, what a
rectory garden looks like in July; he was now engaged in describing
at greater length the feelings of a young girl, daughter of a long
line of rectors and archdeacons, when she discovers for the first
time that the postman is attractive.
"Their eyes met, for a brief moment, as he handed her two circulars