It saves so much trouble."
"Very good. I prefer to believe the worst. It saves useless expenditure of
sympathy. And you may be quite certain that the Waddy believes with me."
Mrs. Mallowe sighed and made no answer.
The conversation was holden after dinner while Mrs. Hauksbee was dressing for
a dance.
"I am too tired to go," pleaded Mrs. Mallowe, and Mrs. Hauksbee left her in
peace till two in the morning, when she was aware of emphatic knocking at her
door.
"Don't be very angry, dear," said Mrs. Hauksbee. "My idiot of an ayah has gone
home, and, as I hope to sleep tonight, there isn't a soul in the place to
unlace me."
"Oh, this is too bad!" said Mrs. Mallowe sulkily.
"'Can't help it. I'm a lone, lorn grass-widow, dear, but I will not sleep in
my stays. And such news, too! Oh, do unlace me, there's a darling! The Dowd--
The Dancing Master--I and the Hawley Boy--You know the North veranda?"
"How can I do anything if you spin round like this?" protested Mrs. Mallowe,
fumbling with the knot of the laces.
"Oh, I forget. I must tell my tale without the aid of your eyes. Do you know
you've lovely eyes, dear? Well to begin with, I took the Hawley Boy to a kala
juggah."
"Did he want much taking?"
"Lots! There was an arrangement of loose-boxes in kanats, and she was in the
next one talking to him.
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