The Rosary | Page 9

fact they furnish the entire programme, to their own
delight, the satisfaction of their friends and relatives, and our
entertainment, particularly afterwards when the duchess takes us
through every item, with original notes, comments, and impersonations.
Oh, Dal! Do you remember when she tucked a sheet of white
writing-paper into her tea-gown for a dog collar, and took off the
high-church curate nervously singing a comic song? Then at the very
end, you see--and really some of it is quite good for amateurs--she trots
out Velma, or some equally perfect artiste, to show them how it really
can be done; and suddenly the place is full of music, and a great hush
falls on the audience, and the poor complacent amateurs realise that the
noise they have been making was, after all, not music; and they go
dumbly home. But they have forgotten all about it by the following
year; or a fresh contingent of willing performers steps into the breach.
The duchess's little joke always comes off."
"The Honourable Jane does not approve of it," said young Ronald
Ingram; "therefore she is generally given marching orders and departs
to her next visit before the event. But no one can accompany Madame
Velma so perfectly, so this time she is commanded to stay. But I doubt
if the 'surprise packet' will come off with quite such a shock as usual,
and I am certain the fun won't be so good afterwards. The Honourable
Jane has been known to jump on the duchess for that sort of thing. She
is safe to get the worst of it at the time, but it has a restraining effect
afterwards."
"I think Miss Champion is quite right," said a bright-faced American
girl, bravely, holding a gold spoon poised for a moment over the
strawberry ice-cream with which Garth Dalmain had supplied her.
"In my country we should call it real mean to laugh, at people who had

been our guests and performed in our houses."
"In your country, my dear," said Myra Ingleby, "you have no
duchesses."
"Well, we supply you with quite a good few," replied the American girl
calmly, and went on with her ice.
A general laugh followed; and the latest Anglo-American match came
up for discussion.
"Where is the Honourable Jane?" inquired someone presently.
"Golfing with Billy," said Ronald Ingram. "Ah, here they come."
Jane's tall figure was seen, walking along the terrace, accompanied by
Billy Cathcart, talking eagerly. They put their clubs away in the lower
hall; then came down the lawn together to the tea-tables.
Jane wore a tailor-made coat and skirt of grey tweed, a blue and white
cambric shirt, starched linen collar and cuffs, a silk tie, and a soft felt
hat with a few black quills in it. She walked with the freedom of
movement and swing of limb which indicate great strength and a body
well under control. Her appearance was extraordinarily unlike that of
all the pretty and graceful women grouped beneath the cedar tree. And
yet it was in no sense masculine--or, to use a more appropriate word,
mannish; for everything strong is masculine; but a woman who apes an
appearance of strength which she does not possess, is mannish;--rather
was it so truly feminine that she could afford to adopt a severe
simplicity of attire, which suited admirably the decided plainness of her
features, and the almost massive proportions of her figure.
She stepped into the circle beneath the cedar, and took one of the
half-dozen places immediately vacated by the men, with the complete
absence of self-consciousness which always characterised her.
"What did you go round in, Miss Champion?" inquired one of the men.

"My ordinary clothes," replied Jane; quoting Punch, and evading the
question.
But Billy burst out: "She went round in--"
"Oh, be quiet, Billy," interposed Jane. "You and I are practically the
only golf maniacs present. Most of these dear people are even ignorant
as to who 'bogie' is, or why we should be so proud of beating him.
Where is my aunt? Poor Simmons was toddling all over the place when
we went in to put away our clubs, searching for her with a telegram."
"Why didn't you open it?" asked Myra.
"Because my aunt never allows her telegrams to be opened. She loves
shocks; and there is always the possibility of a telegram containing
startling news. She says it completely spoils it if some one else knows
it first, and breaks it to her gently."
"Here comes the duchess," said Garth Dalmain, who was sitting where
he could see the little gate into the rose-garden.
"Do not mention the telegram," cautioned Jane. "It would not please
her that I should even know of its arrival. It would be a shame to take
any of the bloom off