''
After several minutes of painful brain-searching,
Cassandra smiled reassuringly.
``I know. I'll predict a long and happy reign for George
the Fifth.''
``My dear girl,'' protested Clovis, ``have you reflected
that Cassandra specialized in foretelling calamities?''
There was another prolonged pause and another triumphant
issue.
``I know. I'll foretell a most disastrous season for the
foxhounds.''
``On no account,'' entreated Clovis; ``do remember that
all Cassandra's predictions came true. The M.F.H. and the
Hunt Secretary are both awfully superstitious, and they are
both going to be present.''
Cassandra retreated hastily to her bedroom to bathe her
eyes before appearing at tea.
The Baroness and Clovis were by this time scarcely on
speaking terms. Each sincerely wished their respective
r
le to be the pivot round which the entire production
should revolve, and each lost no opportunity for furthering
the cause they had at heart. As fast as Clovis introduced
some effective bit of business for the charioteer (and he
introduced a great many), the Baroness would remorselessly
cut it out, or more often dovetail it into her own part,
while Clovis retaliated in a similar fashion whenever
possible.
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