Clara Greeby's a cat making all this fuss about--" "Hush! There she is." Lady Garvington fluttered round, and drifted towards Miss Greeby, who had just stepped out on to the terrace.

The banker's daughter was in a tailor-made gown with a man's cap and a man's gloves, and a man's boots--at least, as Mrs.Belgrove thought, they looked like that--and carried a very masculine stick, more like a bludgeon than a cane.

With her ruddy complexion and ruddy hair, and piercing blue eyes, and magnificent figure--for she really had a splendid figure in spite of Mrs.Belgrove's depreciation--she looked like a gigantic Norse goddess.
With a flashing display of white teeth, she came along swinging her stick, or whirling her shillalah, as Mrs.Belgrove put it, and seemed the embodiment of coarse, vigorous health.
"Taking a sun-bath ?" she inquired brusquely and in a loud baritone voice.

"Very wise of you two elderly things.

I am going for a walk." Mrs.Belgrove was disagreeable in her turn.