Thus, Miss Frederica Coppinger phrased it to those of her allies with whom she was now holding sweet communion. The allies, albeit separated by intervals of from five to ten miles of rough and often hilly road, met with sufficient frequency to keep touch, yet not often enough to crush the ultimate fragrance from the flower of gossip. Their most recent meeting had taken place at the concert, which had been Larry's last achievement before his return to Oxford, and although they had not been oppressively hampered by the convention of silence at such entertainments, conversation had been necessarily somewhat thwarted.
"They made quite a useful little sum at Larry's concert," said Frederica. "Local charities--which meant the Fowl Fund, of course--and Mr. Cotton and Father Greer. Dick said he would not support it if his old women were not helped--abominable cheats though most of them are!"
"I _feel_ for them!" said Mrs. Kirby, intensely. "_No_ one knows the misery and the beggary inflicted on me by the foxes that Bill encourages about the place!"
A sympathetic imagination enabled her friends to realise the misery and beggary which Mrs. Kirby's exceedingly cheerful and prosperous appearance concealed. Both groaned appropriately, and Miss Coppinger made the sweeping statement that she detested hunting in _all_ its ramifications. "We are always told that its great merit is that it brings all classes together," she continued. "In _my_ opinion that is a very dubious advantage, if, indeed, it is not a draw-back!"
Mrs. Kirby permitted her glance to commune for a brief instant with that of the third lady, Mrs. St. George.
"Like mixed concerts!" said Mrs. St. George, in a deep and awful voice.
"Mixed pickles!" murmured Mrs. Kirby, and chuckled at her jest.
"My dear Louisa," she said, resentfully, "I am perfectly aware of their disadvantages, but I should be obliged to you if you would tell me what I am to do! It is the difference in religion that makes me powerless. Powerless!" she repeated looking almost with triumph upon her companions, so irrefutable was her case.
"I hope I'm not a bigot," said Mrs. St. George impressively; "but I thank God I'm not a Roman Catholic!"
"'Not as other men are'!" quoted Miss Coppinger, with some acidity. Even though she agreed with the sentiment, she could not forget that Larry was her nephew.