Part 47 (2/2)
”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 and 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.”
”As how?”
”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 afterward.”
”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.
<script>