One day a witty woman said of a man that “he played the politician about turnips and cabbages.”  That might be retorted (by a snob and brute) on her own sex in general, and upon Mrs. Bazalgette in particular.  This sweet lady maneuvered on a carpet like Marlborough on the south of France.  She was brimful of resources, and they all tended toward one sacred object, getting her own way.  She could be imperious at a pinch and knock down opposition; but she liked far better to undermine it, dissolve it, or evade it.  She was too much of a woman to run straight to her je-le-veux, so long as she could wind thitherward serpentinely and by detour.  She could have said to Mr. Hardie, “You will take down Lucy to dinner,” and to Mr. Dodd, “You will sit next me”; but no, she must mold her males—­as per sample.

To Mr. Fountain she said, “Your friend, I hear, is of old family.”

“Came in with the Conqueror, madam.”

“Then he shall take me down:  that will be the first step toward conquering me—­ha! ha!” Fountain bowed, well pleased.

To Mr. Hardie she said, “Will you take down Lucy to-day?  I see she enjoys your conversation.  Observe how disinterested I am.”

Hardie consented with twinkling composure.

Before dinner she caught Kenealy, drew him aside, and put on a long face.  “I am afraid I must lose you to-day at dinner.  Mr. Dodd is quite a stranger, and they all tell me I must put him at his ease.

“Yaas.”

“Well, then, you had better get next Lucy, as you can’t have me.”

Yaas.”

“And, Captain Kenealy, you are my aid-de-camp.  It is a delightful post, you know, and rather a troublesome one.”

“Yaas.”

“You must help me be kind to this sailor.”

“Yaas.  He is a good fellaa.  Carried the baeg for the little caed.”

“Oh, did he?”

“And didn’t maind been laughed at.”

“Now, that shows how intelligent you must be,” said the wily one; “the others could not comprehend the trait.  Well, you and I must patronize him.  Merit is always so dreadfully modest.”

“Yaas.”

This arrangement was admirable, but human; consequently, not without a flaw.  Uncle Fountain was left to chance, like the flying atoms of Epicurus, and chance put him at Bazalgette’s right hand save one.  From this point his inquisitive eye commanded David Dodd and Mrs. Bazalgette, and raked Lucy and her neighbors, who were on the opposite side of the table.  People who look, bent on seeing everything, generally see something; item, it is not always what they would like to see.

As they retired to rest for the night, Mr. Fountain invited his friend to his room.

“We shall not have to go home.  I have got the key to our antagonist.  Young Dodd is her lover.”  Talboys shook his head with cool contempt.  “What I mean is that she has invited him for her own amusement, not her niece’s.  I never saw a woman throw herself at any man’s head as she did at that sailor’s all dinner.  Her very husband saw it.  He is a cool hand, that Bazalgette; he only grinned, and took wine with the sailor.  He has seen a good many go the same road—­soldiers, sailors, tinkers, tai—­”