“An antelope?”

“Well, not an antelope exactly, but something with horns and hoofs and tail.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Still, that didn’t prevent them from being the chummiest of mortals on the tennis court and in the billiard-room.  They did quarrel finally, about a lead in a doubled hand of no-trumps, but that of course is a thing that no account of judicious guest-grouping could prevent.  Mrs. Walters had got king, knave, ten, and seven of clubs—­”

“You were saying that there were other lines of demarcation that caused the bother,” interrupted Lena.

“Exactly.  It is the minor differences and side-issues that give so much trouble,” said Lady Prowche; “not to my dying day shall I forget last year’s upheaval over the Suffragette question.  Laura Henniseed left the house in a state of speechless indignation, but before she had reached that state she had used language that would not have been tolerated in the Austrian Reichsrath.  Intensive bear-gardening was Sir Richard’s description of the whole affair, and I don’t think he exaggerated.”

“Of course the Suffragette question is a burning one, and lets loose the most dreadful ill-feeling,” said Lena; “but one can generally find out beforehand what people’s opinions—­”

“My dear, the year before it was worse.  It was Christian Science.  Selina Goobie is a sort of High Priestess of the Cult, and she put down all opposition with a high hand.  Then one evening, after dinner, Clovis Sangrail put a wasp down her back, to see if her theory about the non-existence of pain could be depended on in an emergency.  The wasp was small, but very efficient, and it had been soured in temper by being kept in a paper cage all the afternoon.  Wasps don’t stand confinement well, at least this one didn’t.  I don’t think I ever realised till that moment what the word ‘invective’ could be made to mean.  I sometimes wake in the night and think I still hear Selina describing Clovis’s conduct and general character.  That was the year that Sir Richard was writing his volume on ‘Domestic Life in Tartary.’  The critics all blamed it for a lack of concentration.”

“He’s engaged on a very important work this year, isn’t he?” asked Lena.

“‘Land-tenure in Turkestan,’” said Lady Prowche; “he is just at work on the final chapters and they require all the concentration he can give them.  That is why I am so very anxious not to have any unfortunate disturbance this year.  I have taken every precaution I can think of to bring non-conflicting and harmonious elements together; the only two people I am not quite easy about are the Atkinson man and Marcus Popham.  They are the two who will be down here longest together, and if they are going to fall foul of one another about any burning question, well, there will be more unpleasantness.”

“Can’t you find out anything about them?  About their opinions, I mean.”