As Mrs.Flushing wanted to know all she could tell her about the birth and pursuits of every person she suggested, and threw in wild stories of her own as to the temperaments and habits of artists, and people of the same name who used to come to Chillingley in the old days, but were doubtless not the same, though they too were very clever men interested in Egyptology, the business took some time.
At last Mrs.Flushing sought her diary for help, the method of reckoning dates on the fingers proving unsatisfactory.

She opened and shut every drawer in her writing-table, and then cried furiously, "Yarmouth! Yarmouth! Drat the woman! She's always out of the way when she's wanted!" At this moment the luncheon gong began to work itself into its midday frenzy.

Mrs.Flushing rang her bell violently.

The door was opened by a handsome maid who was almost as upright as her mistress.
"Oh, Yarmouth," said Mrs.Flushing, "just find my diary and see where ten days from now would bring us to, and ask the hall porter how many men 'ud be wanted to row eight people up the river for a week, and what it 'ud cost, and put it on a slip of paper and leave it on my dressing-table.

Now--" she pointed at the door with a superb forefinger so that Rachel had to lead the way.
"Oh, and Yarmouth," Mrs.Flushing called back over her shoulder.