"I think you said you had met my cousin, Volumnia Bax?"
"At Lady Presteign's—yes, of course I did! With a splendid head of auburn hair, and a—strongly characteristic manner. We had a most amusing talk."
"She has a red head and freckles, and is interested in Psychœopathy." An analogue of homœopathy, which would have stuck in the gizzard of the Clarendon Press, and even the Daily This and the Evening That would have looked at a dictionary about.
"Oh," said Miss Upwell dubiously. "I thought her a fine-looking woman—a—a Lifeguardswoman, don't you know! And her nose carries her pince-nez without her having to pincer her nez, which makes all the difference. She talked about you."
"Oh, did she? I was going to ask if she did. What did she say about me?"
"You mustn't be angry with her, you know! It was all very nice."
"Oh yes, of course! It always is very nice. But—a—what was it? You will tell me, won't you?"
"Certainly—every word! But I may have mistaken what she said, because there was music—Katchakoffsky, I think; and the cello only found he'd got the wrong Op., half-way through."
"I suppose she was telling you all about me and Reginald. I wish she would mind her own ... well, I wish she would Psychœopathize and leave me alone."
"Dear Mrs. Aiken!—you said you wouldn't be angry. And it was only because I mentioned you and talked of that delightful visit—of—of ours to the Studio.... Oh no, no!—there's no more news. Not a word!" This came in answer to a look. Madeline went on quickly, glad to say no more of her own grief. "It was not till I myself mentioned you that she said, 'I suppose you know they've split?'"