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“Well,” he said, “I must go out now with Lawrence. See to your mother, Di
When she had darkened her mother’s bedroom, applied the usual remedies, and left her to try and sleep, she went downstairs again. Clare had gone out, and the drawing-room, just now so full, seemed deserted. She passed down its length and opened the piano. A voice said:
“No, Polly, you must go to bed, I feel too sad”; and she became aware of her Aunt in the alcove at the end placing her parakeet in its cage.
“Can we be sad together, Aunt Em?”
Lady Mont turned round.
“Put your cheek against mine, Di
Di
“From the first I knew what he would say,” said Lady Mont, “his nose was so long. In ten years’ time it’ll touch his chin. Why they allow them, I don’t know. You can do nothing with a man like that. Let’s cry, Di
“Do you cry high or low, Aunt Em?”
“Either. You begin. A man who can’t take a responsibility. I could have taken that responsibility perfectly, Di
“But Hubert hasn’t si
“It makes it all the worse. Payin’ attention to foreigners! The other day I was sittin’ in the window at Lippin’hall, and there were three starlin’s on the terrace, and I sneezed twice. D’you think they paid any attention? Where is Bolivia?”
“In South America, Aunt Em.”
“I never could learn geography. My maps were the worst ever made at my school, Di
“You were only a continent wrong there, Auntie.”
“Yes. I’ve never seen anybody laugh as my schoolmistress laughed when I said that. Excessive—she was fat. I thought Hubert lookin’ thin.”
“He’s always thin, but he’s looking much less ‘tucked up’ since his marriage.”
“Jean’s fatter, that’s natural. You ought, Di
“You never used to be so keen on people getting married, Auntie.”
“What happened on the tiger the other day?”
“I can’t possibly tell you that, Aunt Em.”
“It must have been pretty bad, then.”
“Or do you mean good?”
“You’re laughin’ at me.”
“Did you ever know me disrespectful, Auntie?”
“Yes. I perfectly well remember you writin’ a poem about me:
I kept it. I thought it showed character.”
“Was I such a little demon?”
“Yes. There’s no way, is there, of shortenin’ dogs?” And she pointed to the golden retriever lying on a rug. “Bonzo’s middle is really too long.”
“I told you that, Aunt Em, when he was a puppy.”
“Yes, but I didn’t notice it till he began to scratch for rabbits. He can’t get over the hole properly. It makes him look so weak. Well! If we’re not goin’ to cry, Di
“Laugh?” murmured Di
CHAPTER 33
Her father and Sir Lawrence not coming back to di
“Aunt Em,” she said, when they had finished, “do you mind if I go round to Michael’s? Fleur has had a hunch.”
“Why?” said Lady Mont: “It’s too early for that—not till March.”
“You’re thinking of the hump, Auntie. A ‘hunch’ means an idea.”
“Then why didn’t she say so?” And, with that simple dismissal of the more fashionable forms of speech, Lady Mont rang the bell.
“Blore, a taxi for Miss Di
“Yes, my lady.”
“Do you wash your hair when you’re sad, Di
Driving through the misty dark evening to South Square, Di
She found Fleur and her Aunt Lady Alison discussing ways and means. The Bolivian Minister, it appeared, was away convalescing after an illness, and a subordinate was in charge. This in Lady Alison’s opinion made it more difficult, for he would probably not take any responsibility. She would, however, arrange a luncheon to which Fleur and Michael should be bidden, and Di
“If you and Fleur can’t manage it, Aunt Alison, I certainly can’t. But Jean is singularly attractive when she likes.”
“Jean telephoned just now, Di
Di
She hurried through the mist along the Embankment and turned down towards the block of workmen’s flats where Jean had found her lodgment. At the corner boys were crying the more sanguinary tidings of the day; she bought a paper to see if Hubert’s case was mentioned, and opened it beneath a lamp. Yes! There it was! “British officer committed. Extradition on shooting charge.” How little attention she would have given to that, if it had not concerned her! This, that was agony to her and hers, was to the Public just a little pleasurable excitement. The misfortunes of others were a distraction; and the papers made their living out of it! The man who had sold the paper to her had a thin face, dirty clothes, and was lame; and, throwing a libationary drop out of her bitter cup, she gave him back the paper and a shilling. His eyes widened in a puzzled stare, his mouth remained a little open. Had she backed the wi
Di
Jean herself opened the door. She was evidently in the throes of packing, having a pair of combinations over her arm. Di
Jean put down the combinations.
“Have some coffee, Di
She poured out two cups, sweetened them, handed Di
“You got my message, then? I’m glad you’ve come—saves my making up a parcel. I hate making parcels, don’t you?”
Her coolness and unharassed expression seemed to Di
“Have you seen Hubert since?”
“Yes. He’s fairly comfortable. It’s not a bad cell, he says, and they’ve given him books and writing paper. He can have food in, too; but he’s not allowed to smoke. Someone ought to move about that. According to English law Hubert’s still as i