Mrs. Harding came down to her in the afternoon.
“Well, you’re a nice cup of tea, you are; you demure little monkey, do you often carry on like that?”
“If I did, I suppose I shouldn’t have such a beastly headache.”
“Don’t know so much about that; I’m a pretty hardened vessel, but a drink too much always gets back at you in the morning, I find. I don’t feel too bright myself, and I don’t look much of a beauty,” she said, looking into the glass. “This life knocks spots out of one, there’s no doubt, but it’s the only one worth living—merry if it is short. Had a hair of the dog that bit? If not, why not? I’ll have one too, he bit me a bit.”
“Help yourself; you’ll find it on the sideboard in the next room.”
“Feel so cheap as all that? Buck up! Have one with me, and you’ll soon feel spry again.”
Marian did not refuse.
“What are you doing to-night?” asked Mrs. Harding. “I’m dining out with my old man, who’s just wired me he gets back this afternoon, or we could have had a lark together somewhere.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“How’s your young man? George’s been away a long time. Wouldn’t he be wild if he knew what a rollicking time the mouse has when the cat’s away. It’s just like men; they expect us to be jolly when they want us, and we jolly well have to be—but as for being jolly when they’re away—oh, Lord, no, that’s shocking. My lord may carry on with as many as he likes, but one woman one man. Thank goodness, they’re easily bamboozled.”