Nothing fans the flame
of human resentment so much as the discovery that one's bosom has been
utilised as a snake sanatorium."
"But what has happened? Has some one been making mischief?"
"Not exactly," said Clovis; "a hen came between them."
"A hen? What hen?"
"It was a bronze Leghorn or some such exotic breed, and Dora sold it to
Jane at a rather exotic price. They both go in for prize poultry, you
know, and Jane thought she was going to get her money back in a large
family of pedigree chickens. The bird turned out to be an abstainer from
the egg habit, and I'm told that the letters which passed between the two
women were a revelation as to how much invective could be got on to a
sheet of notepaper."
"How ridiculous!" said Mrs. Sangrail. "Couldn't some of their friends
compose the quarrel?"
"People tried," said Clovis, "but it must have been rather like composing
the storm music of the 'Fliegende Hollander.' Jane was willing to take
back some of her most libellous remarks if Dora would take back the hen,
but Dora said that would be owning herself in the wrong, and you know
she'd as soon think of owning slum property in Whitechapel as do that."
"It's a most awkward situation," said Mrs. Sangrail. "Do you suppose
they won't speak to one another?"
"On the contrary, the difficulty will be to get them to leave off. Their
remarks on each other's conduct and character have hitherto been governed
by the fact that only four ounces of plain speaking can be sent through
the post for a penny.
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