still sitting there. She wouldn't move unless she was told to; Louise
has no initiative."

"You said you tried to match the silk at Harrod's," interjected the
dowager.

"Did I? Perhaps it was Harrod's. I really don't remember. It was one
of those places where every one is so kind and sympathetic and devoted
that one almost hates to take even a reel of cotton away from such
pleasant surroundings."

"I think you might have taken Louise away. I don't like the idea of her
being there among a lot of strangers. Supposing some unprincipled person
was to get into conversation with her."

"Impossible. Louise has no conversation. I've never discovered a single
topic on which she'd anything to say beyond 'Do you think so? I dare say
you're right.' I really thought her reticence about the fall of the
Ribot Ministry was ridiculous, considering how much her dear mother used
to visit Paris. This bread and butter is cut far too thin; it crumbles
away long before you can get it to your mouth. One feels so absurd,
snapping at one's food in mid-air, like a trout leaping at may-fly."

"I am rather surprised," said the dowager, "that you can sit there making
a hearty tea when you've just lost a favourite niece."

"You talk as if I'd lost her in a churchyard sense, instead of having
temporarily mislaid her. I'm sure to remember presently where I left
her."