‘We must change our poet.’

‘His verbosity!’ cried Mrs. Beecher.

‘His Setebosity!’ cried Maude.

’And dear Mrs. Hunt Mortimer pretending to like him!  Shall we propose Tennyson next week?’

‘It would be far better.’

‘But Tennyson is quite simple, is he not?’

‘Perfectly.’

’Then why should we meet to discuss him if there is nothing to discuss?’

‘You mean that we might as well each read him for herself.’

‘I think it would be easier.’

‘Why, of course it would.’

And so after one hour of precarious life, Mrs. Hunt Mortimer’s Mutual Improvement Society for the elucidation of Browning came to an untimely end.

CHAPTER XVII—­AN INVESTMENT

‘I want your advice, Maude.’

She was looking very sweet and fresh in the morning sunlight.  She wore a flowered, French print blouse—­little sprigs of roses on a white background—­and a lace frill round her pretty, white, smooth throat.  The buckle of her brown leather belt just gleamed over the edge of the table-cloth.  In front of her were a litter of correspondence, a white cup of coffee, and two empty eggshells—­for she was a perfectly healthy young animal with an excellent appetite.

‘Well, dear, what is it?’

’I shall take the later train.  Then I need not hurry, and can walk down at my ease.’

‘How nice of you!’

‘I am not sure that Dinton will think so.’

‘Only one little hour of difference—­what can it matter?’

’They don’t run offices on those lines.  An hour means a good deal in the City of London.’

’Oh, I do hate the City of London!  It is the only thing which ever comes between us.’

’I suppose that it separates a good many loving couples every morning.’

He had come across and an egg-cup had been upset.  Then he had been scolded, and they sat together laughing upon the sofa.  When he had finished admiring her little, shining, patent-leather, Louis shoes and the two charming curves of open-work black stocking, she reminded him that he had asked for her advice.

‘Yes, dear, what was it?’ She knitted her brows and tried to look as her father did when he considered a matter of business.  But then her father was not hampered by having a young man’s arm round his neck.  It is so hard to be business-like when any one is curling one’s hair round his finger.

‘I have some money to invest.’

‘O Frank, how clever of you!’

‘It is only fifty pounds.’

‘Never mind, dear, it is a beginning.’

’That is what I feel.  It is the foundation-stone of our fortunes.  And so I want Her Majesty to lay it—­mustn’t wrinkle your brow though—­that is not allowed.’

‘But it is a great responsibility, Frank.’

‘Yes, we must not lose it.’