Anne smiled, and passed him a little gold box.

'Have a cigarette?' she suggested.

'Thanks--I'm not really in a bad temper. But why this relapse of
devotion to little Mrs Ottley? And why are you and I suddenly treated
with marked neglect?'

'Mrs Ottley,' said Anne, 'is one of those young women, rather bored with
their husbands, who are the worst possible companions for Hyacinth. They
put her off marrying.'

'Bored, is she? She didn't strike me so. A pleasant, bright girl. I
suppose she amuses Hyacinth?'

'Yes; of course, she's not a dull old maid over forty, like me,' said
Anne.

'No-one would believe that description of you,' said Sir Charles, with a
bow that was courtly but absent. As a matter of fact, he did believe it,
but it wasn't true.

'If dear little Mrs Ottley,' he continued, 'married in too great a
hurry, far be it from me to reproach her. I married in a hurry
myself--when Hyacinth was ten.'

'And when she was eighteen you were very sorry,' said Anne in her
colourless voice.