Tempest Tost

My dear—

As I fear that you will find little among my things that you may wish to keep, I leave you these books, which I have had by me for some time. You can easily take them back to the States with you, and if you take them to a good bookseller—a really good one—he will give you a price for them which may surprise you. Look upon this as a special bequest from me, and one upon which you will not have to pay inheritance tax.

With my fondest love

“Well, I shall say good-bye,” said the stranger. “If you ever happen to be in New York, and are interested in rare books, I shall be happy to show you what I have in my shop. Here is my card.”

Only Mr Maybee had the presence of mind to take it. The group broke up, and four of them went their different ways with painful and conflicting thoughts buzzing in their heads.

Long before the light began to fade on this beautiful June day the ladies of Salterton were dressing themselves for the di

Mrs A. M. Mangin: lilac crepe, with lamé panel to tone. Miss Dymphna M’Dumphy: rust satin, with scarf in the M’Dumphy tartan, and a parure of cairngorms. Mrs Shakerley Marmion: wine velvet. Mrs M. Medbourne: écru shantung, with panels of self-coloured lace. Mrs E. P. Moubray: amethyst cut velvet. Mrs James Mylne: pleated puce crepe, with inserts of Paddy green moire…etc., etc.

The persistent reader, seeking information about the ladies associated with the Little Theatre’s forthcoming production, might have compiled his own paragraph, thus:

Mrs Roscoe Forrester: champagne lace. Miss Valentine Rich: flame taffeta. Miss Bo

The newspaper never made any mention of what the escorts of the ladies wore; it went without saying that they wore evening dress of every cut known during the past fifty years, and that the military wore dress uniforms, some of which had been made during their slimmer days, so that the trousers had been augmented at the back with gussets which were not always a perfect match.

Since half-past five Pearl Vambrace had been in her bedroom with the door locked. At three o’clock she had taken a long and elaborate bath, in the course of which she made a violent assault upon her armpits with her father’s razor. She had then composed herself for a nap, for she had read in a magazine that in order to look radiant at night, it was necessary to rest in the afternoon; such rest delayed the onset of crow’s feet, the article said, and Pearl, at nineteen, was determined to show no crow’s feet when she appeared at the Ball with Solly.

As she lay on her bed, trying to relax completely, she thought how astonishing it had been that Solly had asked her to go to the Ball with him. She had never, even in dreams, expected that Roger would ask her. He never seemed to pay any attention to her at all. At rehearsals he took her in his arms, and kissed her in the ma

Relaxing completely was hard work. Try as she might to make herself heavy, and pretend that she was sinking through the bed, as the magazine had directed, she continued to twitch and jump unexpectedly. She would look dreadful at the Ball, she was sure—a mass of wrinkles, hollows and haggard shadows. And breath! Gargle as she might before going to the Bridgetowers’, how would she make sure afterward that her breath was—how did the advertisements put it?—“free of offence”? Could she slip her toothbrush and a tube of paste into her evening bag? She must sleep! She had a long and doubtless gay evening before her, in the company of a young man whom she scarcely knew. And even before the Ball began she had a di

Her misgivings would have been greater if she had had any idea of what had been in progress at the Bridgetower home during the past week. Solly had no particular desire to go to the Ball, but his mother had accepted their joint invitation on his behalf as well as her own. He felt that, if Griselda were to be there with Roger, he might as well be there himself, to keep an eye on her. But with whom? He must have a partner. His mother, in a fit of unaccustomed perverseness, had declared that it was impossible that he should go with her alone. He must have a suitable girl, and she would accompany them in the role of dowager and chaperone. But what girl? Cora Fielding was bespoken. Any other girl whose name he suggested was for one reason or another black-balled by his mother. Finally, in a fit of rebellion, he asked Pearl, whom he hardly knew, and when she regained her powers of speech she said, very politely, that she would be delighted.

Then the fat was in the fire! His mother had risen to new and, to her, refreshing heights of satire when he told her who his partner was to be. She had then decided that, whatever impossible social situations her son might prepare for her, she would comport herself with dignity and according to the rules of etiquette which she recognized. It was out of the question that the Vambraces should invite Solly to di