“Mr. Budge is a politician, is he not?” I asked.  “I think I have heard his name.”

“That is delightful,” she laughed, “Poor Mr. Budge!  He—­and, indeed, many of us in England—­fancies there is no other name to be heard.  He has a fault, though.  He writes sentimental poetry which is complete rubbish, and he prides himself upon it far more than upon his splendid powers of oratory or wonderful organization capacities.”

“What a strange side for a great man to have!” I said.  “Sentimental poetry—­it seems so childish, does it not?”

“We all have our weaknesses, I suppose,” and she smiled.  “We should be very dull if we left nothing for our friends to criticise.”

“Si nous n’avions point de defauts nous ne prendrions pas tant de plaisir a en remarquer dans les autres!” I quoted.

After a while we went back to the house.

Augustus and I got down at half-past eight for dinner, as grandmamma had always told me that punctuality is a part of politeness, but only one or two men were standing by the huge wood-fire that burns all the time in the open fireplace in the salon where we assembled.

We did not know any of their names, and I suppose they did not know ours.  We stared at one another, and they went on talking again, all about the war.  Augustus joined in.  He is dreadfully uneasy in case the rest of the Tilchester Yeomanry may volunteer at last to go out, and was anxious to hear their views of the possibility.  I sat down upon a fat-pillowed sofa, one of those nice kind that puff out again slowly when you get up, and make you feel at rest any way you sit.

A short man with a funny face came and sat beside me.

“What a wonderful lady, to be so punctual!” he said.  “You evidently don’t know the house.  We shall be lucky if we get dinner at nine o’clock.”

“Why did you come down, then,” I asked, “since you are acquainted with the ways?”

“On the off chance, and because a bad habit of youth sticks to me, and I can’t help being on time.”

“I am finding it absurd to have acquired habits in youth; they are all being upset,” I said.

He had such a cheery face, in spite of being so ugly, it seemed quite easy to talk to him.  We chatted lightly until some one called out:  “Billy, do ring and ask if we can have a biscuit and a glass of sherry, to keep us up until we get dinner.”

At that moment—­it was nearly nine—­more people strolled in, two women with their husbands, and several odd pairs—­the last among the single people quite the loveliest creature I have ever seen.  She does not know how to walk, her lips were almost magenta with some stuff on them, but her eyes flashed round at every one, and there seemed to be a flutter among the men by the fireplace.

Augustus dropped his jaw with admiration.  She had on a bright purple dress and numbers of jewels.  I feel sure he was saying to himself that she was a “stunner.”  She did not look at all vulgar, however, only wicked and attractive and delightful.