‘Who’s Mrs. Fargus?’
‘Oh, you should see Mrs. Fargus, she reads Comte, and has worn the same dinner dress ever since I knew her—a black satin with a crimson scarf. Her husband suffers from asthma, and speaks of his wife as a very clever woman. He wears an eyeglass and she wears spectacles. Does that give you an idea of my friends?’
‘I should think it did. What damned bores they must be.’
‘He bores me, she doesn’t. I owe a good deal to Mrs. Fargus. If it hadn’t been for her I shouldn’t be here now.’
‘What do you mean?’
They again passed out of the sunlight into the green shade of some beech trees. Mildred closed her parasol, and swaying it to and fro amid the ferns she continued in a low laughing voice her tale of Mrs. Fargus and the influence that this lady had exercised upon her. Her
