"Rather agreeable," replied Lindsay. "I think I shall come here for the rest cure. I find they have the daily papers, including the Pi," glancing at the Pioneer. "Mrs. Gascoigne, did you see that nice little part about your husband? I meant to tell you yesterday."
"Where?" asked Angel eagerly, coming to the table as she spoke.
He placed the paper before her, and indicated the place, as she sank into a chair.
"Not much to do here?" he remarked, turning to the other lady, who was now rooting among the book shelves, and raised a flushed face and pair of dusty gloves.
"What do you think?" she cried, "there is a first edition of 'Adam Bede,' one volume missing, and a battered copy of Dr. Syntax—a first edition of 'Vilette'—what treasures!"
"I should not be surprised if you unearthed one of the books of the Vedas in a place like this," said Lindsay, contemptuously, "or the manuscript copy of 'Æsop's Fables.'"
"I don't suppose the club has bought any new novels within the memory of living man," said Mrs. Gordon.
"Probably not," said Lindsay. "I have no doubt that local topics and station gossip, amply supply the place of current fiction. There is nothing novel or interesting in the place. I am convinced that even the latest news is last year's scandal."
"How you do despise this poor old place!" remonstrated Mrs. Gordon. "I don't believe they ever gossip here, except about cooks and the price of kerosene oil. It's not at all a bad little club; it is quiet and unpretentious, and——"
"And dull," supplemented Lindsay with energy. "Come, let us go for a walk outside, and take a turn round the polo ground. What do you say, Mrs. Gascoigne? Or are you too grand, in consequence of your husband's achievements, to be seen with us?"