Where are you going ?" "I'm sure I don't know," said the hostess vaguely.

"There's lots to do.
I shall know what's to be done, when I think of it," and she drifted along the terrace and into the house like a cloud blown any way by the wind.

Miss Greeby looked after her limp figure with a contemptuous grin, then she nodded casually to Mrs.Belgrove, and walked whistling down the terrace steps.
"Cat, indeed!" commented Mrs.Belgrove to herself when she saw Miss Greeby's broad back disappear behind the laurels.

"Nothing half so pretty.

She's like a great Flanders mare.