were kept. He trod off the old roll and trod on the new, a slave
at the mill, uncomplaining and beautifully well bred. "Rum; Tum;
Rum-ti-ti; Tum-ti-ti..." The melody wallowed oozily along, like
a ship moving forward over a sleek and oily swell. The four-
legged creature, more graceful, more harmonious in its movements
than ever, slid across the floor. Oh, why was he born with a
different face?

"What are you reading?"

He looked up, startled. It was Mary. She had broken from the
uncomfortable embrace of Mr. Scogan, who had now seized on Jenny
for his victim.

"What are you reading?"

"I don't know," said Denis truthfully. He looked at the title
page; the book was called "The Stock Breeder's Vade Mecum."

"I think you are so sensible to sit and read quietly," said Mary,
fixing him with her china eyes. "I don't know why one dances.
It's so boring."

Denis made no reply; she exacerbated him. From the arm-chair by
the fireplace he heard Priscilla's deep voice.

"Tell me, Mr Barbecue-Smith--you know all about science, I
know--" A deprecating noise came from Mr. Barbecue-Smith's
chair. "This Einstein theory. It seems to upset the whole
starry universe. It makes me so worried about my horoscopes.