By that time Lady Doraine and Lady Greswold, and most of the others were down, and some of them looked as if they had been up awfully late.  It seems they did not finish the baccarat until half-past three, and that Lord Oldfield won more than a thousand pounds.  Mrs. Murray-Hartley had hardly got out of the door, when Lady Doraine said what a beautiful woman she was, and Lady Greswold began “yes and such tact,” and Lady Bobby said, “and so charming,” and Lady Cecilia—­who was doing ribbon work on a small frame that sounds like a drum every time you put the needle through—­looked up and drawled in her voice right up at the top, “Yes, I have noticed very rich people always are.”

Then they all talked at once, and by listening carefully one made out that they were saying a nice thing about every one, only with a different ending to it, like:  “she is perfectly devey but what a pity she makes herself so remarkable,” and “Darling Florrie, of course she is as straight as a die, but wearing those gowns so much too young for her, and with that very French figure, it does give people a wrong impression,” and “It is extraordinary luck for dear Rosie, her husband’s dying before he knew anything.”  I suppose it is all right, Mamma, but it sounds to me like giving back-handers.  The French women never talked like this; they were witty and amusing and polite, just the same as if the men were in the room.

[Sidenote:  The Gossips Rebuked]

Octavia did not join in it, but read the papers, and when they got round to Mrs. Murray-Hartley again, and this time simply clawed her to pieces, Octavia looked up and said in a downright way, “Oh! come, we need none of us have known this woman unless we liked, and we are all getting the quid pro quo out of her, so for goodness’ sake let us leave her alone.”  That raised a perfect storm, they denied having said a word and were quite indignant at the idea of getting anything out of her; but “It’s all bosh,” Octavia said, “I am here because it is the nearest house to the Grassfield ball, and the whole thing amuses me, and I suppose you all have your reasons.”  Lady Doraine looked at her out of the corner of her eyes, and said in her purry voice, “Darling Octavia—­you are so original,” and then she turned the conversation in the neatest way.

[Sidenote:  Octavia’s Philosophy]

Octavia said to me, as we went upstairs before lunch, that they were a set of cats and harpies, and she hated them all, only unfortunately the others—­the nice good ones—­taken en bloc made things so dull, it was better to put up with this set.  Then she kissed me as I went into my room and said; “At this time of the world’s day, my little Elizabeth, there is no use in fighting windmills.”