e
"those are the people that we have to lick stamps for Lloyd George for!"

This was because High Jinks had been seen going out for her afternoon
with what Mabel described to Sabre as a trumpery, gee-gaw parasol.

The expression amused him. "Well, why in heaven's name shouldn't High
Jinks buy a trumpery, gee-gaw parasol?"

"I do wish you wouldn't call her High Jinks. Because she can't afford a
trumpery, gee-gaw parasol."

He spoke bemusedly. No need for caution that he could see. "Well, I
don't know--I rather like to see them going out in a bit of finery."

Mabel sniffed. "Well, your taste! Servants look really nice in their
caps and aprons and their black, if they only knew it. In their bit of
finery, as you call it, they look too awful for words."

Signs of flying up. He roused himself to avert it. "Oh, rather. I agree.
What I meant was I think it's rather nice to see them decking themselves
out when they get away from their work. Rather pathetic."

"Pathetic!"

She had flown up!

He said quickly, "No, but look here, Mabel, wait a bit. I ought to have
explained. What I mean is they have a pretty rotten time, all that
class. When High Jinks puts up a trumpery, gee-gaw parasol, she's human.
That's pathetic, only being human once a week and alternate Sundays. And
when you get a life that finds pleasure in a trumpery, gee-gaw parasol,
well that's more pathetic still. See?"

Real anxiety in his "See?" But the thing was done. "No. I absolutely
don't. Pathetic! You really are quite impossible to get on with. I've
given up even trying to understand your ideas. Pathetic!" She gave her
sudden laugh.

"Oh, well," said Sabre.

Deeper foundered!

II

And precisely the same word--pathetic--came up between them in the
matter of Miss Bypass. Miss Bypass was companion to Mrs. Boom Bagshaw,
the mother of Mr. Boom Bagshaw. Mabel hated Miss Bypass because Miss
Bypass was, she said, the rudest creature she ever met. And "of course"
Sabre took the opposite view--the ridiculous and maddening view--that
her abominably rude manner was not rude but pathetic.

The occasion was an afternoon call paid at the vicarage. Of all houses
in the Garden Home Sabre most dreaded and feared the vicarage. He paid
this call, with shuddering, in pursuance of his endeavour to
do with Mabel things that gave her pleasure. (And in the most
uncongenial of them, as this call at the vicarage, he used to think,
characteristically, "After all, I h