“And don’t you find—­” began the Smooth Gentleman.

“No,” said the Chief Lady Guest firmly, “we do not.  But I was going to say that when we take our measurements and reduce them to a scale of a hundred—­I think you understand me—­”

“Ah, but come, now,” interrupted the Interesting man, “there’s nothing really more deceitful than anthropometric measures.  I remember once saying (in London) to Sir Robert Bittell—­the Sir Robert Bittell, you know—­”

Here everybody murmured, “Oh, yes,” except the Heavy Host and his Heavy Friend, who with all their sins were honest men.

“I said, ’Sir Robert, I want your frank opinion, your very frank opinion—­’”

But here there was a slight interruption.  The Soft Lady accidentally dropped a bangle from her wrist on to the floor.  Now all through the dinner she had hardly said anything, but she had listened for twenty minutes (from the grapefruit to the fish) while the Interesting Man had told her about his life in Honduras (it is pronounced Hondooras), and for another twenty while the Smooth Gentleman, who was a barrister, had discussed himself as a pleader.  And when each of the men had begun to speak in the general conversation, she had looked deep into their faces as if hanging on to their words.  So when she dropped her bangle two of the men leaped from their chairs to get it, and the other three made a sort of struggle as they sat.  By the time it was recovered and replaced upon her arm (a very beautiful arm), the Interesting Man was side-tracked and the Chief Lady Guest, who had gone on talking during the bangle hunt, was heard saying: 

“Entirely so.  That seems to me the greatest difficulty before us.  So few men are willing to deal with the question with perfect sincerity.”

She laid emphasis on the word and the Half Man with the Moon Face took his cue from it and threw a pose of almost painful sincerity.

“Why is it,” continued the Chief Lady Guest, “that men always insist on dealing with us just as if we were playthings, just so many dressed-up dolls?”

Here the Debutante immediately did a doll.

“If a woman is attractive and beautiful,” the lady went on, “so much the better.” (She had no intention of letting go of the doll business entirely.) “But surely you men ought to value us as something more than mere dolls?”

She might have pursued the topic, but at this moment the Smooth Gentleman, who made a rule of standing in all round, and had broken into a side conversation with the Silent Host, was overheard to say something about women’s sense of humour.

The table was in a turmoil in a moment, three of the ladies speaking at once.  To deny a woman’s sense of humour is the last form of social insult.

“I entirely disagree with you,” said the Chief Lady Guest, speaking very severely.  “I know it from my own case, from my own sense of humour and from observation.  Last week, for example, we measured no less than seventy-five factory girls—­”