CHAPTER II



I could fancy the "sort of thing" they put on the presentation
copies of their photographs, and I was sure they wrote a beautiful
hand. It was odd how quickly I was sure of everything that
concerned them. If they were now so poor as to have to cam
shillings and pence they could never have had much of a margin.
Their good looks had been their capital, and they had good-
humouredly made the most of the career that this resource marked
out for them. It was in their faces, the blankness, the deep
intellectual repose of the twenty years of country-house visiting
that had given them pleasant intonations. I could see the sunny
drawing-rooms, sprinkled with periodicals she didn't read, in which
Mrs. Monarch had continuously sat; I could see the wet shrubberies
in which she had walked, equipped to admiration for either
exercise. I could see the rich covers the Major had helped to
shoot and the wonderful garments in which, late at night, he
repaired to the smoking-room to talk about them. I could imagine
their leggings and waterproofs, their knowing tweeds and rugs,
their rolls of sticks and cases of tackle and neat umbrellas; and I
could evoke the exact appearance of their servants and the compact
variety of their luggage on the platforms of country stations.

They gave small tips, but they were liked; they didn't do anything
themselves, but they were welcome. They looked so well everywhere;
they gratified the general relish for stature, complexion and