“I haven’t.  At least, hardly anything,” said Scrap, finishing her soup.

“How every imprudent,” said Mrs. Fisher, “and how highly improper.”

Whereupon Scrap stared at her.

Mrs. Fisher had arrived at dinner feeling friendly towards Lady Caroline.  She at least had not intruded into her room and sat at her table and written with her pen.  She did, Mrs. Fisher had supposed, know how to behave.  Now it appeared that she did not know, for was this behaving, to come dressed—­no, undressed—­like that to a meal?  Such behaviour was not only exceedingly improper but also most inconsiderate, for the indelicate creature would certainly catch a chill, and then infect the entire party.  Mrs. Fisher had a great objection to other people’s chills.  They were always the fruit of folly; and then they were handed on to her, who had done nothing at all to deserve them.

“Bird-brained,” though Mrs. Fisher, sternly contemplating Lady Caroline.  “Not an idea in her head except vanity.”

“But there are no men here,” said Mrs. Wilkins, “so how can it be improper?  Have you noticed,” she inquired of Mrs. Fisher, who endeavoured to pretend she did not hear, “How difficult it is to be improper without men?”

Mrs. Fisher neither answered her not looked at her; but Scrap looked at her, and did that with her mouth which in any other mouth would have been a fain grin.  Seen from without, across the bowl of nasturtiums, it was the most beautiful of brief and dimpled smiles.

She had a very alive sort of face, that one, thought Scrap, observing Mrs. Wilkins with a dawn of interest.  It was rather like a field of corn swept by lights and shadows.  Both she and the dark one, Scrap noticed, had changed their clothes, but only in order to put on silk jumpers.  The same amount of trouble would have been enough to dress them properly, reflected Scrap.  Naturally they looked like nothing on earth in the jumpers.  It didn’t matter what Mrs. Fisher wore; indeed, the only thing for her, short of plumes and ermine, was what she did wear.  But these others were quite young still, and quite attractive.  They really definitely had faces.  How different life would be for them if they made the most of themselves instead of the least.  And yet—­Scrap was suddenly bored, and turned away her thoughts and absently ate toast.  What did it matter?  If you did make the most of yourself, you only collected people round you who ended by wanting to grab.

“I’ve had the most wonderful day,” began Mrs. Wilkins, her eyes shining.

Scrap lowered hers.  “Oh,” she thought, “she’s going to gush.”

“As though anybody were interested in her day,” thought Mrs. Fisher, lowering hers also.

In fact, whenever Mrs. Wilkins spoke Mrs. Fisher deliberately cast down her eyes.  Thus would she mark her disapproval.  Besides, it seemed the only safe thing to do with her eyes, for no one could tell what the uncurbed creature would say next.  That which she had just said, for instance, about men—­addressed too, to her—­what could she mean?  Better not conjecture, thought Mrs. Fisher; and her eyes, though cast down, yet saw Lady Caroline stretch out her hand to the Chianti flask and fill her glass again.