She did not reply, perhaps she did not hear me, anyway she did not reply. She drew on her gloves and said "Good-bye." Dimbie conducted her to the gate. I could hear him entreating her to come again, and she sounded a little more cheerful as she went away.
When he came back he threw himself into a chair and frowned at me. I returned it with an engaging smile, but he continued to frown.
"It doesn't suit you because of your dear crooks," I said.
"We shall never have any friends, Marg, if you behave like——"
"Do you want friends like that?" I interposed.
"I don't, but I'm thinking of you."
"Well, don't," I said. "I don't want any friends like Mrs. Winderby. I like clever, really clever people, because they are usually unaffected and quite simple, and can be interested in you and your doings as well as in their own. But Mrs. Winderby is artificial, and she poses. I don't like people who pose. I would infinitely prefer unclever, natural women than posy ones. Wouldn't you?"
"She was a bit of an affected ass, certainly."
"Some of the women who have called are very nice—not violently interesting any more than I am, but just kind and simple and straightforward. I like to know them, but I don't want to know Mrs. Winderby."
"And you shan't," said Dimbie, lighting his pipe. "The next time she comes I'll throw her out of the gate if you like."