Under the Deodars — Inside the Classic

it of riding all across Simla in the Rains, to call on Mrs. Hauksbee. That lady laughed.

‘For my sins, the Aide at Tyrconnel last night told me off to The Mussuck. Hsh! Don’t laugh. One of my most devoted admirers. When the duff came some one really ought to teach them to make puddings at Tyrconnel The Mussuck was at liberty to attend to me.’

‘Sweet soul! I know his appetite,’ said Mrs. Mallowe. ‘Did he, oh did he, begin his wooing?’

‘By a special mercy of Providence, no. He explained his importance as a Pillar of the Empire. I didn’t laugh.’

‘Lucy, I don’t believe you.’

‘Ask Captain Sangar; he was on the other side. Well, as I was saying, The Mussuck dilated.’

‘I think I can see him doing it,’ said Mrs. Mallowe pensively, scratching her fox-terrier’s ears.

‘I was properly impressed. Most properly. I yawned openly. “Strict supervision, and play them off one against the other,” said The Mussuck, shovelling down his ice by tureenfuls, I assure you. “That, Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.”’

Mrs. Mallowe laughed long and merrily. ‘And what did you say?’

‘Did you ever know me at loss for an answer yet? I said: “So I have observed in my dealings with you.” The Mussuck swelled with pride. He is coming to call on me to-morrow. The Hawley Boy is coming too.’

‘“Strict supervision and play them off one against the other. That, Mrs. Hauksbee, is the secret of our Government.” And I daresay if we could get to The Mussuck’s heart, we should find that he considers himself a man of the world.’

‘As he is of the other two things. I like The Mussuck, and I won’t have you call him names. He amuses me.’

‘He has reformed you, too, by what appears. Explain the interval of sanity, and hit Tim on the nose with the paper-cutter, please. That dog is too fond of sugar. Do you take milk in yours?’

‘No, thanks. Polly, I’m wearied of this life. It’s hollow.’

‘Turn religious, then. I always said that Rome would be your fate.’

‘Only exchanging half-a-dozen attaches in red for one in black, and if I fasted, the wrinkles would come, and never, never go. Has it ever struck you, dear, that I’m getting old?’

‘Thanks for your courtesy. I’ll return it. Ye-es, we are both not exactly how shall I put it?’

‘What we have been. “I feel it in my bones,” as Mrs. Crossley says. Polly, I’ve wasted my life.’

‘Never mind how. I feel it. I want to be a Power before I die.’

‘Be a Power then. You’ve wits enough for anything and beauty!’

Mrs. Hauksbee pointed a teaspoon straight at her hostess. ‘Polly, if you heap compliments on me like this, I shall cease to believe that you’re a woman. Tell me how I am to be a Power.’

‘Inform The Mussuck that he is the most fascinating and slimmest man in Asia, and he’ll tell you anything and everything you please.’

‘Bother The Mussuck! I mean an intellectual Power not a gas-power. Polly, I’m going to start a salon.’

Mrs. Mallowe turned lazily on the sofa and rested her head on her hand. ‘Hear the words of the Preacher, the son of Baruch,’ she said.

‘Will you talk sensibly?’

‘I will, dear, for I see that you are going to make a mistake.’

‘I never made a mistake in my life at least, never one that I couldn’t explain away afterwards.’

‘Going to make a mistake,’ went on Mrs. Mallowe composedly. ‘It is impossible to start a salon in Simla. A bar would be much more to the point.’

‘Perhaps, but why? It seems so easy.’

‘Just what makes it so difficult. How many clever women are there in Simla?’

‘Myself and yourself,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee, without a moment’s hesitation.

‘Modest woman! Mrs. Feardon would thank you for that. And how many clever men?’

‘Oh er hundreds,’ said Mrs. Hauksbee vaguely.

‘What a fatal blunder! Not one. They are all bespoke by the Government. Take my husband, for instance. Jack was a clever man, though I say so who shouldn’t. Government has eaten him up. All his ideas and powers of conversation he really used to be a good talker, even to his wife in the old days are taken from him by this this kitchen-sink of a Government. That’s the case with every man up here who is at work. I don’t suppose a Russian convict under the knout is able to amuse the rest of his gang; and all our men-folk here are gilded convicts.’

‘But there are scores--’