She had never been known to
betray any of the secrets that passed at the risk of their lives from
Miss Bishop's side of the table to Miss Walker's. There was reason to
suppose that Miss Roots was aware of the surreptitious manufacture of
bread pellets by Mr. Spinks (Mr. Spinks being the spirit of youth
incarnate); but when one of these missiles struck Miss Roots full in
the throat, when it should have just delicately grazed the top of Miss
Flossie's frizzled hair, Miss Roots not only ignored the incident at
the time, but never made the faintest allusion to it afterwards.
Therefore Mr. Spinks voted Miss Roots to be a brick, and a trump, and
what he called a real lady.
Very curious and interesting was the behaviour of these people among
themselves. It was an eternal game of chivy or hide-and-seek, each
person being by turn the hunter and the hunted. Mrs. Downey tried to
talk to the birds of passage; but the birds of passage would talk to
nobody but each other. Miss Bramble took not the slightest notice of
Mr. Partridge. Mr. Partridge did everything he could to make himself
agreeable to Miss Bramble; but she was always looking away over the
aspidistras, towards the young end of the table, with a little air of
strained attention, at once alien and alert. Mr. Spinks spent himself
in perpetual endeavours to stimulate a sense of humour in Miss Walker,
who hadn't quite enough of it, with very violent effects on Miss
Bishop, who had it in excess; while Mr.
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