'Madame Frabelle's in her own room. She stays there a good deal, you
know. I fancy she does it out of tactfulness.' Edith spoke thoughtfully.

'What does she do there?' Bruce asked with low-toned curiosity, as he
stood up and looked in the glass.

'She says she goes there to read. She thinks it bores people to see a
visitor sitting reading about the house; she says it makes them get
tired of the sight of her.'

'But she can't be reading all those hours, surely?' and Bruce sat down,
satisfied with his appearance.

'One would think not. I used to think she was probably lying on the sofa
with cold cream on her face, or something of that sort. But she doesn't.
Once I went in,' Edith smiled, 'and found her doing Swedish exercises.'

'Good heavens! What a wonderful woman she is! Do you mean to say she's
learning Swedish, as well as all the other languages she knows?'

'No, no. I mean physical exercises. But go on, Bruce. I'm getting so
impatient.'

Bruce settled himself down comfortably, blew a ring of smoke, and then
began slowly:

'I never dreamt, Edith--'

'Oh, Bruce, are you going to tell me everything you never dreamt? We