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She had not accompanied the General to Porthminster and was therefore awaiting his return. The furniture was about to come out of chintz, and she was standing in the tea room wondering whether that chintz would last another season, when a Scotch terrier came in, followed by her eldest daughter Elizabeth—better known as ‘Di
“Mother, do we have to go into black edging for Uncle Cuffs?”
“I don’t think so, Di
“Is he to be planted here?”
“I expect in the Cathedral, but Father will know.”
“Tea, darling? Scaramouch, up you come, and don’t bob your nose into the Gentleman’s Relish.”
“Di
“So am I, dear; he isn’t Hubert at all, he’s like a sketch of himself by Thom the painter, all on one side. He ought never to have gone on that ghastly expedition, Mother. There’s a limit to hitting it off with Americans, and Hubert reaches it sooner than almost anybody I know. He never could get on with them. Besides, I don’t believe civilians ever ought to have soldiers with them.”
“Why, Di
“Well, soldiers have the static mind. They know God from Mammon. Haven’t you noticed it, dear?”
Lady Cherrell had. She smiled timidly, and asked:
“Where is Hubert? Father will be home directly.”
“He went out with Don, to get a leash of partridges for di
“Yes, dear. And this room wants fresh flowers.”
“I’ll get them. Come along, Scaramouch!”
Passing out into September sunshine, Di
Her mother was standing by the tea table.
“The train’s late,” she said. “I do wish Clare wouldn’t drive so fast.”
“I don’t see the co
“Mother, I’m all for Hubert sending his version to the papers.”
“We shall see what your Father says—he’ll have talked to your Uncle Lionel.”
“I hear the car now,” said Di
The General was followed into the room by his younger daughter. Clare was the most vivid member of the family. She had dark fine shingled hair and a pale expressive face, of which the lips were slightly brightened. The eyes were brown, with a straight and eager glance, the brow low and very white. Her expression was old for a girl of twenty, being calm and yet adventurous. She had an excellent figure and walked with an air.
“This poor dear has had no lunch, Mother,” she said.
“Horrible cross-country journey, Liz. Whisky-and-soda and a biscuit’s all I’ve had since breakfast.”
“You shall have an egg-nogg, darling,” said Di
The General kissed his wife. “The old boy looked very fine, my dear, though, except for Adrian, we only saw him after. I shall have to go back for the funeral. It’ll be a swell affair, I expect. Great figure—Uncle Cuffs. I spoke to Lionel about Hubert; he doesn’t see what can be done. But I’ve been thinking.”
“Yes, Con?”
“The whole point is whether or not the Authorities are going to take any notice of that attack in the House. They might ask him to send in his commission. That’d be fatal. Sooner than that he’d better hand it in himself. He’s due for his medical on October the first. Can we pull any strings without his knowing?—the boy’s proud. I can go and see Topsham and you could get at Follanby, couldn’t you?”
Lady Cherrell made wry her face.
“I know,” said the General, “it’s rotten; but the real chance would be Saxenden, only I don’t know how to get at him.”
“Di
“Di
“I,” said Lady Cherrell, “have no brains at all.”
“Bosh! Oh! Here she is.”
Di
“Di
“Through a country neighbour, Dad. Has he any?”
“His place marches with Wilfred Bentworth’s.”
“There it is, then. Uncle Hilary or Uncle Lawrence.”
“How?”
“Wilfred Bentworth is Chairman of Uncle Hilary’s Slum Conversion Committee. A little judicious nepotism, dear.”
“Um! Hilary and Lawrence were both at Porthminster—wish I’d thought of that.”
“Shall I talk to them for you, Father?”
“By George, if you would, Di
“Yes, dear. It’s a woman’s job, isn’t it?”
The General looked at his daughter dubiously—he never quite knew when she was serious.
“Here’s Hubert,” said Di