Bremmil grieved, and, consequently, the
more uncomfortable Bremmil grew. The fact was that they both needed a tonic.
And they got it. Mrs. Bremmil can afford to laugh now, but it was no laughing
matter to her at the time.
You see, Mrs. Hauksbee appeared on the horizon; and where she existed was fair
chance of trouble. At Simla her bye-name was the "Stormy Petrel." She had won
that title five times to my own certain knowledge. She was a little, brown,
thin, almost skinny, woman, with big, rolling, violet-blue eyes, and the
sweetest manners in the world. You had only to mention her name at afternoon
teas for every woman in the room to rise up, and call her--well--NOT blessed.
She was clever, witty, brilliant, and sparkling beyond most of her kind; but
possessed of many devils of malice and mischievousness. She could be nice,
though, even to her own sex. But that is another story.
Bremmil went off at score after the baby's death and the general discomfort
that followed, and Mrs. Hauksbee annexed him. She took no pleasure in hiding
her captives. She annexed him publicly, and saw that the public saw it. He
rode with her, and walked with her, and talked with her, and picnicked with
her, and tiffined at Peliti's with her, till people put up their eyebrows and
said: "Shocking!" Mrs.
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