“They made quite a useful little sum at Larry’s concert,” said Frederica.  “Local charities—­which meant the Fowl Fund, of course—­and Mr. Cotton and Father Greer.  Dick said he would not support it if his old women were not helped—­abominable cheats though most of them are!”

“I feel for them!” said Mrs. Kirby, intensely. “No one knows the misery and the beggary inflicted on me by the foxes that Bill encourages about the place!”

A sympathetic imagination enabled her friends to realise the misery and beggary which Mrs. Kirby’s exceedingly cheerful and prosperous appearance concealed.  Both groaned appropriately, and Miss Coppinger made the sweeping statement that she detested hunting in all its ramifications.  “We are always told that its great merit is that it brings all classes together,” she continued.  “In my opinion that is a very dubious advantage, if, indeed, it is not a draw-back!”

Mrs. Kirby permitted her glance to commune for a brief instant with that of the third lady, Mrs. St. George.

“Like mixed concerts!” said Mrs. St. George, in a deep and awful voice.

“Mixed pickles!” murmured Mrs. Kirby, and chuckled at her jest.

Miss Frederica flushed.

“My dear Louisa,” she said, resentfully, “I am perfectly aware of their disadvantages, but I should be obliged to you if you would tell me what I am to do!  It is the difference in religion that makes me powerless.  Powerless!” she repeated looking almost with triumph upon her companions, so irrefutable was her case.

“I hope I’m not a bigot,” said Mrs. St. George impressively; “but I thank God I’m not a Roman Catholic!”

“’Not as other men are’!” quoted Miss Coppinger, with some acidity.  Even though she agreed with the sentiment, she could not forget that Larry was her nephew.

“Oh, it isn’t the actual religion I was thinking of,” said Mrs. St. George, rather hurriedly, Larry’s disadvantages having temporarily escaped her memory.  “It was rather—­well—­”

“For boys it doesn’t matter so much,” broke in Mrs. Kirby, “but I really did dislike seeing Christian on the platform with that party!”

“She was only playing accompaniments,” said Miss Coppinger still resentful.

“That only made it worse!  If she had sung a solo it would have been less humiliating,” replied Mrs. Kirby, with a masterly change of front.  “I was indignant!  Christian, with her charming voice, only playing accompaniments and singing in the glees, and that unendurable Mangan girl posing as the Prima Donna, and oh! her clothes!”

“Or her want of them!” interposed Mrs. St. George, on a profound bass note.

“And her songs!  I don’t profess to know much about music, but I do know what I like!” continued Mrs. Kirby with the finality and decision that usually accompany the admission.  “People may tell me she has a fine voice, but I detest enormous contralto voices! What I suffered during the last thing she sang as an encore!  And that final yell of ‘Asthore’! at least an octave below her voice!  I could only think of the bellow of the cow that jumped over the moon!”