”

“You must have it,” said Miss Bartlett, part of whose travelling expenses were paid by Lucy's mother — a piece of generosity to which she made many a tactful allusion.

“No, no. You must have it.”

“I insist on it. Your mother would never forgive me, Lucy.”

“She would never forgive me.”

The ladies' voices grew animated, and — if the sad truth be owned — a little peevish. They were tired, and under the guise of unselfishness they wrangled. Some of their neighbours interchanged glances, and one of them — one of the ill-bred people whom one does meet abroad — leant forward over the table and actually intruded into their argument. He said: