‘She sits on her balcony in the sun,’ said Mrs Hillier, ‘a thing which I for one should never have time to do. I suppose one has too much conscience. If I ever do go out on my balcony for a minute and look along, there she always is; and if I call out in a friendly way, “Whatever are you doing?” she says, “Nothing” and looks amused and rather superior.’

‘She doesn’t sketch, or one would understand her staring like that at the view. Of course, it is very beautiful.’

‘She may think,’ said another of the ladies, looking up from some broderie anglaise over which she had been straining her eyes. She was of some prestige, her speech was slow and weighted down with implications. ‘She must think a good deal,’ she decided; ‘nobody who was not thinking could do absolutely nothing all day and look so very superior about it, like a cat.’

‘You mean that she has something on her mind?’

The lady of the embroidery rubbed her sore eyes with two fingers, revolving this slowly. She opened her eyes again tentatively, blinked once or twice and shut them again. ‘The light is very poor,’ she said aggrievedly.

‘Very. Won’t you take my place, Mrs Hepworth? it is nearer the window – you mean to say that she has something on her mind?’

‘No, thank you very much, I do not care to move from this side of the fire – I should rather say that she had something in her mind all the time, at the back of it. One is never comfortable in talking to her, though she is, I am sure, brilliant. I have said to myself over and over again, when I’ve been with her: “That woman has something at the back of her mind.”’

‘I wonder what?’ asked someone rashly.

‘That,’ said Mrs Hepworth coldly, ‘would be quite impossible to say.’

There were about seven ladies present, all embroidering something unpractical and therefore permissible, except Mrs Duperrier, who, poor soul, was too restless, and another lady who with the aid of much gamboge and vermilion was touching up a water-colour, a sunset. At four o’clock they would all retire for tea; after that they would go downstairs to the basement into what was called the smoking-room and play bridge, with the intermission only of dinner, till it was time for bed. Though keen players, the seven were not to be numbered among the enthusiasts. Those, after a perfunctory glance at the weather, had sat down to their tables soon after eleven o’clock. Nobody who smoked but did not play bridge dared enter the smoking-room.