"How?"

"Meet him at my table."

She jumped an illumined half-about on her chair. "So I will, then. What
are the creature's tastes?"

"Hunts, does he?" The editor rose in her mind from the state of neuter
to something of a man. "I recollect an article in that paper on the
Ormont duel. I hate duelling, but I side with my brother. I had to
laugh, though. Luckily, there's no woman on hand at present, as far as
I know. Ormont's not likely to be hooked by garrison women or blacks.
Those coloured women--some of ours too--send the nose to the clouds;
not a bad sign for health. And there are men like that old Cardinal
Guicciardini tells of...hum! Ormont's not one of them. I hope he'll
stay in India till this blows over, or I shall be hearing of
provocations."

"You have seen the Duke?"

She nodded. Her reserve was a summary of the interview. "Kind, as he
always is," she said. "Ormont has no chance of employment unless there's
a European war. They can't overlook him in case of war. He'll have to
pray for that."

"Let us hope we shan't get it."

"My wish; but I have to think of my brother. If he's in England with no
employment, he's in a mess with women and men both. He kicks if he's