"A grave mistake," agreed Mrs. Burton. "It will not make us think any
the more highly of her when she is married."

"I am in two minds about calling on her," declared Lady Harriet. "I am
very doubtful as to the advisability of inviting any one so obviously
unsuitable into our inner circle. Of course Mrs. Ralston," she raised
her long pointed chin upon the name, "will please herself in the matter.
She will probably be the first to try and draw her in, but what Mrs.
Ralston does and what I do are two very different things. She is not
particular as to the society she keeps, and the result is that her
opinion is very justly regarded as worthless."

"Oh, quite," agreed Mrs. Burton, sending an obviously false smile in the
direction of the lady last named who was approaching them in the company
of Mrs. Ermsted, the Adjutant's wife, a little smart woman whom Tommy
had long since surnamed "The Lizard."

Mrs. Ralston, the surgeon's wife, had once been a pretty girl, and there
were occasions still on which her prettiness lingered like the gleams of
a fading sunset. She had a diffident manner in society, but yet she was
the only woman in the station who refused to follow Lady Harriet's lead.
As Tommy had said, she was a nobody. Her influence was of no account,
but yet with unobtrusive insistence she took her own way, and none could
turn her therefrom.

Mrs. Ermsted held her up to ridicule openly, and yet very strangely she
did not seem to dislike the Adjutant's sharp-tongued little wife. She
had been very good to her on more than one occasion, and the most
appreciative remark that Mrs. Ermsted had ever found to make regarding