"If the hyaena was really hungry and not merely toying with his
food there wouldn't be much in the way of remains. It would be
like the small-boy-and-apple story--there ain't going to be no
core."

Mrs. Momeby turned away hastily to seek comfort and counsel in
some other direction. With the selfish absorption of young
motherhood she entirely disregarded Clovis's obvious anxiety about
the asparagus sauce. Before she had gone a yard, however, the
click of the side gate caused her to pull up sharp. Miss Gilpet,
from the Villa Peterhof, had come over to hear details of the
bereavement. Clovis was already rather bored with the story, but
Mrs. Momeby was equipped with that merciless faculty which finds
as much joy in the ninetieth time of telling as in the first.

"Arnold had just come in; he was complaining of rheumatism--"

"There are so many things to complain of in this household that it
would never have occurred to me to complain of rheumatism,"
murmured Clovis.

"He was complaining of rheumatism," continued Mrs. Momeby, trying
to throw a chilling inflection into a voice that was already doing
a good deal of sobbing and talking at high pressure as well.

She was again interrupted.

"There is no such thing as rheumatism," said Miss Gilpet. She
said it with the conscious air of defiance that a waiter adopts in