ome young people whose parents had already
entertained himself and his wife, and Grizel sighed, a long sigh of
resignation.

"What shall we do with them afterwards?"

"Talk."

"They can't talk, bless you! Don't know how."

"Then you must talk to them."

"I can't. A dull dinner party pumps me dry, and I simply cannot stand
desultory drawls for an hour on top of it. I get fidgets, and yawn,--
heavens, how I yawn! It's not a mite of use telling me not to. I
_must_. If I swallow them down my nose swells, and my eyes fill. I
look as if I had hay fever... Do you never get fidgets at a dull
party?"

"Mental?"

"No. Physical. In your legs. Far worse! They won't keep still. I've
lived through some shocking hours.--I'd rather play puss-in-the-corner,
than talk twaddle for an hour on end."

"I should thoroughly enjoy seeing Mary Mallison playing
puss-in-the-corner," Martin declared, and beat a hasty retreat.
Experience had proved that it was a colossal mistake to endeavour to
change Grizel's mind. The most convincing of arguments had no power to
move her; while moral axioms sent her galloping headlong in the opposite
direction to that in which she was directed; moreover, it was a waste of
energy to essay the task, since her rebellions were but word deep, and
the passage of a short half-hour was usually sufficient to disperse
them, and restore her to her usual complacent radiance.

This morning the radiance returned at the prospect of Cook's face when
she heard of the impending trial. Grizel did not think of her own face
as she sat at the head of her table awaiting the serving of dishes
prepared by a good plain cook. She had seen that expression more than
once of late on the faces of worthy Chumley hostesses. It was a
compound expression, which included a smile, a determined animation of
the eyes, and withal a pucker, a tightening, a tenseness of anxiety.
For all their forced gaiety the eyes had a faraway expression; they were
penetrating through dividing walls, peering into saucepans, anxiously
regarding the preparation of sauce. Grizel had been quick to diagnose
the symptoms, but her sympathy had been lacking. "Hang it all, it's not
her fault! _She_ didn't cook it!" had been the mental comment.

Cook, as had been expected, folded her arms and assumed an expression of
acute resignation. "_Ten_ did you say, 'Um? Twelve with yourselves.
I'm not sure that the range... How many courses were you thin