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 'Poor Mrs. Binks,' sighed Berengaria as we drove away. 'Five children at home, and five hundred a month. No wonder she stays with her husband in the plains.' So poor Mrs. Binks' complexion had been immolated on the altar of stern necessity. I couldn't help regretting it. It would have been so much more interesting if it had been the sacrifice of wifely devotion to Mr. Binks. It was at the next house, at Mrs. Ipplethwaites', that the event of the morning happened. I can't say I found Mrs. Ipplethwaite particularly interesting for the first four or five minutes, but, then, Berengaria had not given her much chance. However, I discovered she was fond of dogs and horses, and anybody who is fond of animals must have some good in them somewhere. 'My husband and I have been for years in very lonely places,' she told me, 'and I don't know what we should have done without our dogs and horses. They have been such good company, almost as intelligent as human beings.' 'But not so intelligent as Peter,' put in Berengaria. 'Do show Peter to my cousin, will you?' Mrs. Ipplethwaite called out to one of the servants to bring Peter. A moment later out in the veranda I heard a familiar 'Oo-ugh—oo-ugh' that made me grow kind of rigid. Then Peter entered. He was the baboon who had visited me the night before! Just inside the room he stopped dead and looked