as though her countenance had so long been set in an
expression of unchallenged superiority that the muscles
had stiffened, and refused to obey her orders.
"Xingu—" she said, as if seeking in her turn to gain time.
Mrs. Roby continued to press her. "Knowing how engross-
ing the subject is, you will understand how it happens
that the club has let everything else go to the wall for the
moment. Since we took up Xingu I might almost say—
were it not for your books— that nothing else seems to
us worth remembering."
Osric Dane's stern features were darkened rather than lit
up by an uneasy smile. "I am glad to hear that you make
one exception," she gave out between narrowed lips.
"Oh, of course," Mrs. Roby said prettily; "but as you have
shown us that—so very naturally!—you don't care to talk
of your own things, we really can't let you off from telling
us exactly what you think about Xingu; especially," she
added, with a still more persuasive smile, "as some people
say that one of your last books was saturated with it."
It was an it, then—the assurance sped like fire through the
parched minds of the other members. In their eagerness
to gain the least little clue to Xingu they almost forgot the
joy of assisting at the discomfiture of Mrs. Dane.
The latter reddened nervously under her antagonist's
challenge. "May I ask," she faltered out, "to which of my
books you refer?"
Mrs. Roby did not falter. "That's just what I want you to
HYLAND
