In the circles in which Violet moved the kiss was equivalent to the
hand-shake of loftier society. Everybody who came to the back door
kissed Violet. The carrier did; so did the grocer, the baker, the
butcher, the gardener, the postman, the policeman, and the fishmonger.
They were men of widely differing views on most points. On religion,
politics, and the prospects of the entrants for the three o'clock race
their opinions clashed. But in one respect they were unanimous.
Whenever they came to the back door of Harrow House they all kissed
Violet.
'I've had a story accepted by the _Universal Magazine_,' said
James, casually.
'Have you, sir?' said Violet.
'It's a pretty good magazine. I shall probably do a great deal for it
from time to time. The editor seems a decent chap.'
'Does he, sir?'
'I shan't tie myself up in any way, of course, unless I get very good
terms. But I shall certainly let him see a good lot of my stuff. Jolly
morning, isn't it?'
He strolled on; and Violet, having sniffed the air for a few more
minutes with her tip-tilted nose, went indoors to attend to her work.
Five minutes later James, back in the atmosphere of chalk, was writing
on the blackboard certain sentences for his class to turn into Latin
prose. A somewhat topical note ran through them. As thus:
'The uncle of Balbus wished him to tend sheep in the Colonies
(_Provincia_).
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