This was how Peter and I first came really to know each other; and after that it was only a question of time when our friendship developed into a serious love-affair.  I stayed with Mrs. Bunbury in the Grafton country that winter for several weeks and was mounted by every one.

As Peter was a kind of hero in the hunting field and had never been known to mount a woman, I was the object of much jealousy.  The first scene in my life occurred at Brackley, where he and a friend of his, called Hatfield Harter, shared a hunting box together.

There was a lady of charm and beauty in the vicinity who went by the name of Mrs. Bo.  They said she had gone well to hounds in her youth, but I had never observed her jump a twig.  She often joined us when Peter and I were changing horses and once or twice had ridden home with us.  Peter did not appear to like her much, but I was too busy to notice this one way or the other.  One day I said to him I thought he was rather snubby to her and added: 

“After all, she must have been a very pretty woman when she was young and I don’t think it’s nice of you to show such irritation when she joins us.”

Peter:  “Do you call her old?”

Margot:  “Well, oldish I should say.  She must be over thirty, isn’t she?”

Peter:  “Do you call that old?”

Margot:  “I don’t know!  How old are you, Peter?”

Peter:  “I shan’t tell you.”

One day I rode back from hunting, having got wet to the skin.  I had left the Bunbury brougham in Peter’s stables but I did not like to go back in wet clothes; so, after seeing my horse comfortably gruelled, I walked up to the charming lady’s house to borrow dry clothes.  She was out, but her maid gave me a coat and skirt, which—­though much too big—­served my purpose.

After having tea with Peter, who was ill in bed, I drove up to thank the lady for her clothes.  She was lying on a long, thickly pillowed couch, smoking a cigarette in a boudoir that smelt of violets.  She greeted me coldly; and I was just going away when she threw her cigarette into the fire and, suddenly sitting very erect, said: 

“Wait!  I have something to say to you.”

I saw by the expression on her face that I had no chance of getting away, though I was tired and felt at a strange disadvantage in my flowing skirts.

Mrs. Bo:  “Does it not strike you that going to tea with a man who is in bed is a thing no one can do?”

Margot:  “Going to see a man who is ill?  No, certainly not!”

Mrs. Bo:  “Well, then let me tell you for your own information how it will strike other people.  I am a much older woman than you and I warn you, you can’t go on doing this sort of thing!  Why should you come down here among all of us who are friends and make mischief and create talk?”

I felt chilled to the bone and, getting up, said: