r
hadn't insisted on my taking a drop of cordial to bear my grief. And
when I recovered, I vowed I would never marry again. The men dearie,
are all alike. They marry one woman, and want twenty. And if you as
much as look at another man, they smash the furniture and threaten to
get a divorce. I can see you've found that out."

"Ye're barkin' up the wrong tree," said Ada. "My old man's as 'ard as
nails, but 'e don't run after women. 'E's the wrong shape, see."

Ada had never spent such a pleasant time in her life. She had never
tasted brandy till that afternoon. Cardigan Street drank beer, and
the glasses Ada had drunk at odd times had only made her sleepy without
excitement. But this seductive liquid leapt through her veins,
bringing a delicious languor and a sense of comfort. Her mind, dull
and heavy by habit, ran on wheels. She wanted to interrupt Mrs Herring
to make some observations of her own which seemed too good to lose.
She felt a silly impulse to ask her whether she was born with a
moustache, who taught her to shave, whether she could grow a moustache
if she left it alone. She wanted to ask why her palpitations had gone
off so quickly, and why she seemed perfectly at home in the "Angel",
but her thoughts crowded heel on heel so fast that she had forgotten
them before she could speak.

She remembered that a few weeks ago the housekeeper's husband had died
of typhoid in the Never Never country, and Mrs Herring had nursed him
bravely to the end. She tried to reconcile this with his death this
afternoon in the Boer War, and decided that it didn't matter. He must
have died somewhere, for no one had ever seen him. She was discovering
slowly that this woman was a consummate liar, who lied as the birds
sing, but forgot her many inventions, a born liar without a memory.
Suddenly Mrs Herring said she must be going, and Ada got up to leave.
She lurched as she stood, and pushed her chair over with a clumsy
movement.

"I b'lieve I'm drunk," she muttered, with a foolish titter.

CHAPTER 15

Mrs PARTRIDGE LENDS A HAND

Since ten o'clock in the morning the large house, standing in its own
grounds, had been invaded by a swarm of dealers, hook-nosed and
ferret-eyed, prying into every corner, searching each lot for hidden
faults, judging at a glance the actual value of every piece of
furniture, their blood stirred with the hereditary joy in chaffering,
for an auction is as full of surprises as a ba