like a hermit in the wilds."

"He's painting pictures," put in Lady Garvington. "Do hermits paint?"

"No. Only society women do that," said Miss Greeby cheerfully, and Mrs.
Belgrove's faded eyes flashed. She knew that the remark was meant for
her, and snapped back. "Are you going to have your fortune told by the
gypsies, dear?" she inquired amiably. "They might tell you about your
marriage."

"Oh, I daresay, and if you ask they will prophesy your funeral."

"I am in perfect health, Miss Greeby."

"So I should think, since your cheeks are so red."

Lady Garvington hastily intervened to prevent the further exchange of
compliments. "Will you be back to luncheon, or join the men at the
coverts?"

"Neither. I'll drop on Lambert for a feed. Where are you going?"

"I'm sure I don't know," said the hostess vaguely. "There's lots to do.
I shall know what's to be done, when I think of it," and she drifted
along the terrace and into the house like a cloud blown any way by the
wind. Miss Greeby looked after her limp figure with a contemptuous grin,
then she nodded casually to Mrs. Belgrove, and walked whistling down the
terrace steps.

"Cat, indeed!" commented Mrs. Belgrove to herself when she saw Miss