' Your husband
isn't a prominent Nonconformist, but his mother came of
Wesleyan stock, and you must allow the newspapers some
latitude.''
``But we should have found his remains,'' sobbed Mrs.
Momeby.
``If the hy
na was really hungry and not merely toying
with his food there wouldn't be much in the way of remains.
It would be like the small-boy-and-apple story---there ain't
going to be no core.''
Mrs. Momeby turned away hastily to seek comfort and
counsel in some other direction. With the selfish
absorption of young motherhood she entirely disregarded
Clovis's obvious anxiety about the asparagus sauce. Before
she had gone a yard, however, the click of the side gate
caused her to pull up sharp. Miss Gilpet, from the Villa
Peterhof, had come over to hear details of the bereavement.
Clovis was already rather bored with the story, but Mrs.
Momeby was equipped with that merciless faculty which finds
as much joy in the ninetieth time of telling as in the
first.
``Arnold had just come in; he was complaining of
rheumatism---''
``There are so many things to complain of in this
household that it would never have occurred to me to
complain of rheumatism,'' murmured Clovis.
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