She turned at random to another paragraph. "Lie quietly concealed
in the fern and bramble in the gap by the old rowan tree, and you
may see, almost every evening during early summer, a pair of
lesser whitethroats creeping up and down the nettles and hedge-
growth that mask their nesting-place."

The insufferable monotony of the proposed recreation! Eleanor
would not have watched the most brilliant performance at His
Majesty's Theatre for a single evening under such uncomfortable
circumstances, and to be asked to watch lesser whitethroats
creeping up and down a nettle "almost every evening" during the
height of the season struck her as an imputation on her
intelligence that was positively offensive. Impatiently she
transferred her attention to the dinner menu, which the boy had
thoughtfully brought in as an alternative to the more solid
literary fare. "Rabbit curry," met her eye, and the lines of
disapproval deepened on her already puckered brow. The cook was a
great believer in the influence of environment, and nourished an
obstinate conviction that if you brought rabbit and curry-powder
together in one dish a rabbit curry would be the result. And
Clovis and the odious Bertie van Tahn were coming to dinner.
Surely, thought Eleanor, if Arlington knew how much she had had
that day to try her, he would refrain from joke-making.

At dinner that night it was Eleanor herself who mentioned the name
of a certain statesman, who may be decently covered under the
disguise of X.

"X," said Arlington Stringham, "has the soul of a meringue."