He hurried towards her—­a tall Don Quixote of a man, gaunt, active, grey-haired, with a stride like a youth of eighteen, and the very minimum of flesh on his well-hung frame.  Lord Findon had gone through many agitations during the last ten or twelve years.  In his own opinion, he had upset a Ministry, he had recreated the army, and saved the Colonies to the Empire.  That history was not as well aware of these feats as it should be, he knew; but in the memoirs, of which there were now ten volumes privately printed in his drawer, he had provided for that.  Meanwhile, in the rush of his opinions and partisanships, two things at least had persisted unchanged—­his adoration for Eugenie—­and his belief that if only man—­and much more woman—­would but exchange ‘gulping’ for ’chewing’—­would only, that is to say, reform their whole system of mastication, and thereby of digestion, the world would be another and a happier place.

He came up now, frowning, and out of temper.

‘Upon my word, Eugenie, the blindness of some people is too amazing!’

‘Is it?  Sit down, papa, and look at that!’

She pushed a chair towards him, smiling, and pointed to the terrace, the woods, the sky.

‘It’s all very well, my dear,’ said Lord Findon, seating himself—­’but this place tries me a good deal.’

‘Because the ladies in the restaurant are so stout?’ said Eugenie.  ‘Dear papa—­somebody must keep these cooks in practice!’

‘Never did I see such spectacles!’ said Lord Findon, fuming.  ’And when one knows that the very smallest attention to their diet—­and they might be sylphs again—­as young as their grandchildren!—­it’s really disheartening.’

‘It is,’ said Eugenie.  ’Shall we announce a little conference in the salon?  I’m sure the ladies would flock.’

‘The amount the French eat is appalling!’ exclaimed Lord Findon—­without noticing.  ’And they have such ridiculous ideas about us!  I said something about their gluttony to M. de Villeton this morning—­and he fired up!—­declared he had spent this summer in English country-houses, and we had seven meals a day—­all told—­and there wasn’t a Frenchman in the world had more than three—­counting his coffee in the morning.’

‘He had us there,’ said Eugenie.

’Not at all!  It doesn’t matter when you eat—­it’s what and how much you eat.  We can’t produce such women as one sees here.  I tell you, Eugenie, we can’t.  It takes all the poetry out of the sex.’

Eugenie smiled.

‘Haven’t you been walking with Lady Marney, papa?’

Lord Findon looked a little annoyed.

‘She’s an exception, my dear—­a hideous exception.’

‘I wouldn’t mind her size,’ said Eugenie, softly—­’if only the complexion were better done.’

Lord Findon laughed.

‘Paint is on the increase,’ he declared—­’and gambling too.  Villeton tells me there was baccarat in the Marney’s’ apartment last night, and Lady Marney lost enormously.  Age seems to have no effect on these people.  She must be nearly seventy-five.’