her head.

'Still too old-fashioned to smoke! I should have thought you'd have
been driven to it here to keep the mosquitoes at a distance. . . .

'Do you like my case, Joan? Willoughby Maule gave it to me,' she asked.

'You didn't return it then?'

'Why should I have hurt his feelings? We weren't engaged.' A meditative
pause and then suddenly, 'Evelyn Mary doesn't smoke. Nice girls don't!'

'Biddy, I shall be sorry for Evelyn Mary if the Maules are to live in
London and you go back there again--which I suppose you will do.'

'You needn't suppose for certain that I shall go back.' She savoured
her cigarette slowly. 'I can't go on with that old life, the sort of
life one has to lead with Aunt Eliza and the Gavericks and their set. I
can't go on pushing and striving and rushing here and there in order to
be seen at the right houses and join the hunt after fleeing eligibles.'

She gave a bitter little laugh, and then her tone changed to that
ripple of frivolity in which nevertheless Mrs Gildea discerned the
under-beat of tragedy.

'Besides, even so, it's incongruous--impossible. I've come to the
conclusion that the only things which make London--as I've known it--
endurable are unlimited credit at a good dressmaker--Oh, and one of
the beautiful new motor-cars. You don't mind travelling from Dan to
Beersheba if you can do it in five minutes. But when you've got to