THE REVIVAL
Dodo went back to Winston on the morning after her night out, and had a
second celebration of the armistice there. A gardener remembered that
there was a quantity of fireworks, procured in pre-war days for some
garden-fête, slumbering in a tool-house, and she arranged that there
would be an exhibition of these on the lawn, under the direction of a
convalescent patient who had embraced a pyrotechnical career before he
became a gunner.
As an exhibition of smoke and smell these fireworks which had become
damp and devitalised were probably unrivalled in the history of the art.
Faint sparks of flame appeared from time to time through the dense and
pungent clouds that enveloped the operator: Roman candles played cup and
ball on a minute scale with faintly luminous objects; Catherine-wheels
incapable of revolution spat and spluttered; rockets climbed wearily
upwards for some ten feet and then expired with gentle sighs, and Bengal
fires smouldered like tobacco. Very soon nothing whatever could be seen
of the display through the volumes of smoke which completely shrouded
the lawn, and all that could be heard was the convulsive coughing of
the asphyxiated gunner, who emerged with streaming eyes and said if
being gassed was anything like that he would sooner be wounded ten times
over. He was sorry that he had been absolutely unable to stop there any
longer, but before rescuing himself had lit a remaining half-dozen of
rockets, and a fuse attached to a square box called a "mine" of which he
knew nothing whatever, and hoped less. He had hardly explained this when
the mine went off with an explosion that caused all the windows to
rattle, and a couple of rockets shot up to a prodigious height and burst
in showers of resplendent stars. Half an hour later, a policeman groped
his way up to the hospital through the fumes, and having ascertained
that there had been fireworks, felt himself obliged to report the
occurrence to a local tribunal, and Dora fined Dodo fifty pounds.
Altogether it was a joyful though an expensive evening.
It had been arranged by the military authorities that the private
hospitals should first be evacuated now that the stream of wounded no
longer poured into England from across the Channel, and gradually as the
patients at Winston were discharged, the wards began to empty. Dodo
resorted to all possible means to keep her hospital full. She besieged
the War Office with such importunity that, had she been a widow, she
must surely have had her request granted her; she threatened, flattered,
and complained about the management of the Red Cross, she even
considered the possibility of suborning an engine-driver of a Red Cross
train going to York or some northern depôt, to bring his waggons to a
standstill at the station for Winston, and then go on strike. Thus the
wounded must be conveyed somewhere, and as the train could not proceed,
it would be necessary to bring them to Winston, and had strikes then
been as popular as they soon became, this brilliant plan might possibly
have succeeded. As it was, she saw her beloved establishment growing
emptier and emptier every week; there were no more operations to be
performed, so the surgeon went back to his practice in Harley Street;
all but one of the staff of nurses departed to get married or take up
the normal threads of life again, stretchers stood in disconsolate heaps
in the passages, bedding and bedsteads, drugget, tables and bath-chairs
were put into lots for sale, the big ward was closed, and the beflagged
pins so gleefully stuck into the map of France fell out one by one on to
the floor, and were swept up by the housemaid. Soon there were but half
a dozen men left in the whole place and these, like the little
nigger-boys, vanished one by one. The gramophones grew mute, the smell
of Virginian tobacco grew faint, nobody banged doors any more or played
"There's a Little Grey Home in the West" on the cracked piano, hour by
hour with one finger and a wrong note coming after a pause always in
precisely the same place. Finally one man alone remained, who had
missed his train and had to stop till the next morning. He tried that
evening with very small success to teach Dodo a game of cards called
"Snick," and she with even less success tried to entertain him with
agreeable conversation. Under this enchantment he grew ever more morose,
and when she could think of nothing more to say, a long silence fell,
which was broken by his remarking, "Gawd, this place gives a man the
hump!"... With that heartfelt ejaculation he shuffled up to bed, and was
gone next morning before Dodo came down. The hospital fizzled out, like
an oil-less lamp; it ceased to flame, the wick smouldered a little and
then expired.
* * * * *
Dodo had, rather mistakenly, arranged to remain here for a couple of
days after everyone had gone, in order to taste the sweets of leisure in
a place where she had been so absorbingly occupied, for she hoped that
this would draw the fullest flavour out of the sense of having nothing
to do. From habit she awoke early, and tried to cajole herself into
imagining how delicious it was to stop in bed, instead of getting up and
going down to her business-room. It was a dark, chilly morning, and she
heard the sleet tattoo on her window-panes; how cold the business-room
would be, and how warm she was below her quilt. Instead of arising and
shivering, she would doze again, and tell her maid to light a fire in
her bedroom before she got up. Then, instead of dozing, she made lazy
plans for the day; after breakfast she would read the paper, and then,
not stirring from the fireside, would go on with that extremely amusing
French book which made Jack say "Pish!" and throw it into the
waste-paper basket, from which Dodo had rescued it. After lunch, fine or
not, she would go for a ride, and stop out just as long as she chose,
instead of hurrying back to duties that no longer existed, and she would
have tea in her bathroom, and lie there hotly soaking, and she would go
to sleep before dinner, and have a quail and some caviare and a
hot-house peach and half a bottle of champagne and then she would finish
her book, go to bed early and go on reading when she got there. There
was nobody except herself to please, and nothing to do except exactly
that which she chose to do. To-morrow morning Jack arrived, and the day
after they would go up to town together. Chesterford House had also been
evacuated a week ago and by this it should have resumed its usual
appointments.
Dodo (though with slight internal misgivings) was so anxious to begin
enjoying herself by doing nothing at all that she rang for her maid and
got up. It was a perfect day for thinking how comfortable it was by the
fire, for outside the wind screamed and scolded, and the sleet had
turned to snow. She was rather glad to find that there was nothing of
the smallest interest in the paper, for that made it more imperative to
throw it away, put her feet on the fender and smoke one cigarette after
another. "Too heavenly," she thought to herself. "I could sit and toast
myself for days and days. I haven't got to give out bandages, nobody is
going to have an operation, I haven't got any letters to write, and if I
had I shouldn't write them. How wise I was to stop here and be lazy. The
luxury of it!"
The house was perfectly quiet; how often she had longed for an hour's
quiet during these last years, for the gramophone to be mute, and the
piano to be silent, for the cessation of steps and whistling
everlastingly passing down the corridor outside her door! Now she had
got it, and she tried hard to appreciate it. No one could possibly come
to interrupt her, no one wanted her, she had leisure to amuse herself
and taste the joys of a complete holiday. So she made up the fire and
got her French book which she need not begin reading till she felt
disposed. But she opened it, skimmed a page or two, and thought that
Jack was really rather prudish. She would have argued with him about it
if he had been here. Then the clock on her mantelpiece struck the hour,
which she was surprised to find was only eleven, when she had imagined
it was twelve. All the better; there was an extra hour of doing nothing.
The snow had ceased, and a patch of pale sunlight brightening the floor
brought her to the window. There had been no heavy fall, but it still
lay smooth and white on the broad gravel path and the lawn, for no
footsteps that morning had trodden it. Just about a year ago there had
been a similar fall, and by the middle of the morning the path had been
swept clear, and the lawn had supplied sufficient material for the
erection of a snow figure, which had been begun as a man, but had been
transformed into a lady since skirts were more solid and easier of
execution than legs. But she was not a satisfactory lady, and so she was
snow-balled into even a more complete shapelessness.... Below the window
this morning the warmth of the sun on the house had already melted the
thin covering on the flower-beds, and snowdrops and aconites made a
brave heralding of spring. But there was no object now in going out and
picking them and making them into bedside posies. Dodo did not in the
least want any snowdrops for herself; they seemed to her a depressed,
frightened kind of flower that wished it had not blossomed at all. Then
suddenly with an immense feeling of relief it occurred to her that she
had not tidied up the business-room; there were all sorts of files and
bills and papers, connected with the work of these last four years, to
be arranged and put away, and delighted at having found something to do
she spent a strenuous day, not stirring out of doors and sitting up into
the small hours of next morning. That day there was the auction in the
house of hospital furniture, and Dodo from pure sentimentality bought a
gramophone, an iron bedstead with bedding complete, a bath-chair and
five packets of temperature charts.
"Darling, they'll be so useful," she explained to Jack, who arrived in
the afternoon. "We're growing old, you see, and either you or I,
probably you, will be crippled with arthritis before many years are
over, and then think how convenient to have a beautiful bath-chair all
ready, without having to order it and wait for it to come. Very likely
there would be a railway strike at the time, and then you wouldn't get
it for weeks and weeks, and would have to remain planted on the terrace,
if you could get as far, instead of having the most delicious pushes--I
suppose you call it going for a push, don't you?--all over the woods.
And the cheapness of it! Why, a new one would cost double what I paid
for it, and it's quite as good as new, if not better."
"I see. That was very thoughtful of you," said he. "But why all those
temperature charts! There appear to be five packets of twenty."
Dodo felt perfectly able to account for the temperature charts.
"My dear, supposing the influenza came again this spring as it did last
year," she said. "It often attacks an entire household. Suppose we've
got a party here, suppose there are twenty people in the house; that
will mean at least fifteen valets and maids as well and that makes
thirty-five. Then there are all our own servants. Bang comes the 'flu,
and without a moment's delay everybody's temperature chart is hanging
up above his bed. Now I come to think of it, I wish I had bought more.
Two such visitations will use them all up. It was penny-wise,
pound-foolish not to have taken the opportunity of getting them cheap."
"You certainly should have bought more," said Jack. "These will be used
up in no time. I didn't know you kept charts for people who had
influenza, but----"
"But you know now. Don't apologise," said she. "Oh, my dear, I'm so glad
to see you. I thought I should like being alone here with nothing
whatever to do, but it was hellish. And that beautiful iron bed. Wasn't
it a good thing I bought that?"
"I'm sure it was," said he. "Tell me why!"
Dodo raised her eyebrows in commiserating surprise.
"How often has it happened that somebody has proposed himself and I've
had to telegraph, 'So sorry but not another bed in the house'? Now that
will never happen again, for there it is!"
"There usually was another bed in the house," remarked Jack.
"Then with this that will make two," said Dodo brilliantly. "We can
always have two more people. As for the gramophone--let me see, why did
I buy the gramophone? A gramophone is much the most odious thing in the
world for its size, worse than fleas or parsnips. I think I bought it
because I hated it so. Shall I turn it on? Jack, I think I shall put it
in the drawing-room where it used to play all day, and turn it on and
then come back here, and you'll guess what it was like when it went on
from dewy morn to dewier eve. Frankly, I bought it to remind me of the
hospital. My dear, how I miss it! Without it this house gives me the
hump, as Wilcox said."
"Who is Wilcox?"
"The last man who was here. He missed his train, and I tried to amuse
him all evening with that result. The war's over, by the way, I have to
say that to myself, for fear I should howl at the sight of this
emptiness. What are we going to do with ourselves in London all March?"
Jack licked his lips.
"I'm going to sit down," he said. "I've stood up for four years
strolling about in mud. I'm going to sleep in my nice chair, and play
bridge when I awake. I'm going to matinées at theatres----"
"When you wake, or in order to sleep?" asked she.
"Both. I'm going to get up later and later every morning until there
isn't any morning, and go to bed earlier and earlier until there isn't
any evening. I'm cross and tired and flat. I never want to see a horse
again."
Dodo looked at him in consternation.
"Oh, but that will never do," she said. "You've got to wind me up,
darling, and stimulate me incessantly until I perk up again and hold
myself upright. At present I feel precisely like one of those extremely
frail-headed snowdrops--I always despised snowdrops--and wish I had
remained comfortably underneath the ground, and hadn't come up at all.
We shall never get on if you mean to be a snowdrop too! Jack, you can't
be a snowdrop: I never saw anyone so unlike a snowdrop. You really
mustn't attempt to imitate anything that you resemble so little. I might
as well try to be a penny-in-the-slot machine!"
Jack had taken a cigarette and held it unlit as he looked about.
"Do try," he said. "I happen to be in want of a box of matches."
"I daresay you do," said Dodo, "but I'm not in want of snowdrops. You
must think of me, Jack."
He took a coal out of the hearth with the tongs, lit his cigarette and
singed his moustache.
"My job is over too, as well as yours, Dodo," he said, "and I'm damned
if I want to have another job of any sort. I believe the railwaymen are
going to strike next week----"
"My dear, we must get up to town before that happens," said she.
"I don't see why. What's the use of going anywhere, or doing anything?
I'm quite in sympathy with people who strike. Why shouldn't I sit down
if I choose and do nothing? I have worked hard; now I shall strike."
Dodo gave him a quick, sidelong glance.
"Are you tired, Jack?" she asked. "Fed up?"
"No, not the least tired, thanks, but I'm the most fed-up object you
ever saw. I shall strike."
Dodo tried a humourous line.
"Get up a trades-union of landowners," she said. "Say you won't perform
the duties of landowner any longer. My dear, you could hold on with your
strike for ever, because you are rich. Other strikes come to an end,
because the funds come to an end, or because the Government makes a
compromise. But you needn't compromise with anybody, and as long as you
live within your income, you will never starve. I shall join you, I
think. What fun if all the peeresses went on strike, and didn't give any
more balls or get into divorce courts, or do anything that they have
been accustomed to do."
"Very amusing," said Jack drily.
"Then you ought to laugh," said Dodo.
"I daresay. But why should I do anything I ought to do?"
Dodo suddenly became aware that she had got somebody else to think about
besides herself. Up till to-day she had been completely engrossed in the
fact that, with the passing of the hospital, she had got nothing to do,
and, for the present, did not feel inclined to take the trouble to
bestir herself for her own amusement. But now it struck her that other
people (and here was one) might be feeling precisely as she felt
herself. She had supposed that some day somebody or something would
come along and begin to interest her again, and then no doubt she would
rouse herself. She had thought that Jack would be the most likely person
to do that; he would propose a month's yachting, or a few weeks in
London, and be very watchful of her, and by all means in his power try
to amuse her. She knew quite well that the faculty of living with zest
had not left her, for long before her first twenty-four hours of
complete laziness were over, she had pined for employment, and hailed
the fact of an untidy business-room as a legitimate outlet for energy.
But now she found herself cast for a very different part; she had
imagined that Jack would help her on to her feet again, and it seemed
that she had to help him. For all these years he had found in her his
emotional stimulus without any effort on her part. He had never failed
to respond to her touch, nor she, to do her justice, to answer his need.
But at this moment, though the symptoms were so infinitesimal, namely
the failing to be amused at the most trivial nonsense, she diagnosed a
failure of response.... And at that, she felt as if she had been
suddenly awakened by some noise in the night, that startled her into
complete consciousness, and meant danger; as if there were burglars
moving about the house. All her wits were about her at once, but she
moved stealthily, so that they should not guess that anyone had heard or
was stirring.
"My dear, you've hit it," she said in a congratulatory voice. "Why
should we do anything we ought to do? Don't let us. Oh, Jack, you're old
and I'm old. For a couple of years now I have suspected that our day was
done. We've had the hell of a good time, you know, and we've had the
hell of a bad time. Let's have no more hells, or heavens either for that
matter. Probably you thought that I should want to go skylarking about
again; indeed, I've said as much, and told you that you had to stimulate
me, and get me going again. But oh, I wish I could convey to you how I
hated the idea of that. I thought you would come back with your work
over, and all your energy bursting to be employed again, and that you
would insist on my ringing the curtain up, and beginning all the old
antics over again. I would have done it too, in order to please you and
keep you busy and amused. But what a relief to know you don't want
that!"
Dodo suddenly became afraid that she was putting too much energy into
her renunciation of energy, and gave a long, tired sigh.
"Think of Edith," she said. "How awful to have that consuming fire of
energy. The moment the war was over she threw her typewriter out of the
window and narrowly missed her scullery-maid in the area. She had locked
up her piano, you know, for the period of the war, and of course she had
lost the key, and so she broke it open with a poker, and sat down on the
middle of the keys in order to hear it talk again. She has gone
straight back to her old life, and oh, the relief of knowing that you
don't want me to. I couldn't possibly have done it without you to whip
me on, and thank God, you dropped your whip. Jack, I thought you would
expect me to begin again, and would be disappointed if I didn't. So,
like a good wife, I resigned myself to be spurred and whipped, just
telling you that you would have to do that. But the joy of knowing that
you want to be tranquil, too! Don't let us go up to town to-morrow, or
next week, or until we feel inclined."
Dodo ran over what she had said in her mind, and thought it covered the
ground. She had fully explained why she had told Jack that he mustn't be
a snowdrop, and all that sort of thing. She was convinced of her wisdom
when he put up his feet on a chair, and showed no sign of questioning
her sincerity.
"We've all changed," he said. "We don't want any more excitements. At
least you and I don't. Edith's a volcano, and till now, I always thought
you were."
Dodo made a very good pretence at a yawn, and stifled it.
"I remember talking to Edith just before the war," she said. "I told her
that a cataclysm was wanted to change my nature. I said that if you lost
every penny you had, and that I had to play a hurdy-gurdy down
Piccadilly, I should still keep the whole of my enjoyment and vitality,
and so I should. Well, the cataclysm has come, and though it has ended
in victory, it has done its work as far as I am concerned. I've played
my part, and I've made my bow, and shall retire gracefully. I don't want
to begin again. I'm old, I'm tired, and my only reason for wishing to
appear young and fresh was that you would expect me to. You are an
angel."
Dodo's tongue, it may be stated, was not blistered by the enunciation of
these amazing assertions. She was not in the least an habitual liar, but
sometimes it became necessary to wander remarkably far from the truth
for the good of another, and when she engaged in these wanderings, she
called the process not lying, but diplomacy. She had made up her mind
instantly that it would never do for Jack to resign himself to inaction
for the rest of his life and with extraordinary quickness had guessed
that the best way of starting him again was not to push or shove him
into unwelcome activities, but cordially to agree with him, and profess
the same desire for a reposeful existence herself. She regarded it as
quite certain that he would not acquiesce long in her abandoning the
activities of life, but would surely exert himself to stimulate her
interests again. For himself he was an admirable loafer, and had just
that spice of obstinacy about him which might make him persist in a lazy
existence, if she tried to shake him out of it, but he would be first
astonished and soon anxious if she did the same thing, and would exert
himself to stimulate her, finding it disconcerting and even alarming if
she sank into the tranquil apathy which just now she had asserted was so
suitable to her age and inclinations. This Machiavellian plan then, far
from being a roundabout and oblique procedure, seemed, on reflection, to
be the most direct route to her goal. Left to himself he might loaf
almost indefinitely, but a precisely similar course on her part, would
certainly make him rouse himself in order to spur her flagging
faculties. And all the time, it was she who was spurring him.
She proceeded to clothe this skeleton of diplomacy with flesh.
"I always used to wonder how this particular moment would come to me,"
she said, "and though I always used to say I would welcome it, I was
secretly rather terrified of it. I thought it would be rather a ghastly
sort of wrench, but instead of being a wrench it has been the most
heavenly relaxation. I had a warning you see, and I had a taste of it,
when I collapsed and went off alone to Truscombe; and how delicious it
is, darling, that your resignation, so to speak, has coincided with
mine. I thought perhaps that you would preserve your energy longer than
I, and that I should have to follow, faint but pursuing, or that you
would fail first, and would have to drag along after me. But the way it
has happened makes it all absolutely divine. I might have guessed it
perhaps. We've utterly grown into one, Jack; I've known that so many
years, dear, and this is only one more instance out of a thousand. Just
the same thing happened to Mr. and Mrs. Browning----"
"Who?" asked Jack.
"Brownings--poets," said Dodo, "all those books. After all, they were
Mr. and Mrs., though it sounds rather odd when one says so. Don't you
remember that delicious poem where they sat by the fire and she read a
book with a spirit-small hand propping her forehead--though I never
understood what a spirit-small hand meant--and thought he was reading
another, and all the time he was looking at her?"
Dodo suddenly thought she was going a little too far. It was not quite
fair to introduce into her diplomacy quite such serious topics and
besides, there was a little too much _vox humana_ about it. She poked
the fire briskly.
"'By the fireside'; that was the name of it," she said, "and here we
are. We must advertise, I think, in the personal columns of the _Times_,
and say that Lord and Lady Chesterford have decided to do nothing more
this side of the grave, and no letters will be forwarded. They inform
their large circle of friends that they are quite well, but don't want
to be bothered. Why, Jack; it's half-past seven. How time flies when one
thinks about old days."
Throughout March they stopped down at Winston, and the subtlety of
Dodo's diplomacy soon began to fructify. She saw from the tail of her
eye that Jack was watching her, that something bordering on anxiety
began to resuscitate him, as he tried to rouse her. Once or twice, in
the warm days of opening April, he coaxed her down to the stream with
him (for fishing was a quiet pursuit not at variance with the reposeful
life) to see if she would not feel the lure of running water, or be
kindled in these brightening fires of springtime. If fish were rising
well, she noted with a bubble of inward amusement that he would forget
her altogether for a time, but then, though hitherto he had always
discouraged or even refused her companionship when he was fishing, he
would come to her and induce her to attempt to cast over some feeding
fish in the water above. So, to please him, she would take the rod from
him and instantly get hung up in a tree. But oftener when he proposed
that she should come out with him, she would prefer to stay quiet in
some sheltered nook on the terrace, and tell him that she was ever so
happy alone. Once or twice again he succeeded in getting her to come out
for a gentle ride, solicitous on their return to know that it had not
overtired her, eager for her to confess that she really had enjoyed it.
And then Dodo would say, "Darling, you are so good to me," and perhaps
consent to play a game of picquet. He did not disquiet himself over the
thought that she was ill, for she looked the picture of health, ate
well, slept well, and truthfully told him that she had not the smallest
pain or discomfort of any kind. Often she was quite talkative, and
rattled along in the old style, but then in midflight she would droop
into silence again. Only once had he a moment of real alarm, when he
found her reading the poems of Longfellow....
Then one day to his great joy, she began to reanimate herself a little.
A new play had come out in London, and some paper gave a column-long
account of it, which Jack read aloud.
"Really it sounds interesting," she said. "I wonder----" and she broke
off.
"Why shouldn't we run up to town and see it?" said he. "There are
several things I ought to attend to. Lets go up to-morrow morning."
"Yes, if you like," she said. "I won't promise to go to the play, Jack,
but--yes I'll come. You might telephone for seats now, mightn't you?"
Certainly the play interested her, and they discussed it as they drove
home. One of the characters reminded Dodo of Edith, and she said she had
not seen her for ages. On which Jack, very guilefully, telephoned to
Edith to drop in for lunch next day, and arranged to go out himself, so
that Dodo might have a distinct and different stimulus. Unfortunately
Dodo, hearing that Jack would be out, scampered round about lunch-time
to see Edith, and drink in a little froth of the world before returning
to the nunnery of empty Winston, and thus they both found nobody there.
She and Jack had intended to go back to the country that afternoon, but
Dodo let herself be persuaded to go to the Russian ballet, which she
particularly wanted to see. Jack took a box for her, and in the
intervals several friends came up to see them. He enjoyed the ballet
enormously himself, and longed to go again the next night. This was not
lost on Dodo, and she became more diplomatic than ever.
"Stop up another night, Jack," she said, "and go there again. I shall be
quite, quite happy at Winston alone. Let's see; they are doing
'Petroushka' to-morrow; I hear it is admirable."
"I shouldn't dream of stopping in town without you," said he, "or of
letting you be alone at that--at Winston. You won't stop up here another
day?"
Dodo was getting a little muddled; she wanted to see "Petroushka"
enormously, and had to pretend it was rather an effort; at the same time
she had to remember that Jack wanted to see it, though he pretended that
he wanted her to see it. He thought that she thought.... She gave it up;
they both wanted to see "Petroushka" for their own sakes, and pretended
it was for the sake of each other.
"Yes, dear, I don't think it would overtire me," she said. "But let's go
to the stalls to-morrow. I think you will see it better from straight in
front."
"I quite agree," said Jack cordially.
About three weeks later Dodo came in to lunch half an hour late and in
an enormous hurry. She had asked Edith to come at 1.30 punctually, so
that they could start for the Mid-Surrey links at two, to play a
three-ball match, and be back at five for a rubber before dinner which
would have to be at seven, since the play to which they were going began
at eight. She was giving a small dance that night, but she could get
back by eleven from the play. They were going down to Winston early next
morning (revisiting it after nearly a month's absence), so that Jack
could get a day's fishing before the Saturday-till-Monday party arrived.
"I don't want any lunch," said Dodo. "I'm ready now, and I shall eat
bread and cheese as we drive down to Richmond. Things taste so delicious
in a motor. Jack, darling, fill your pockets with cheese and cigarettes,
and give me a kiss, because it's David's birthday."
"We were talking about you," he remarked.
"Tell me what you said. All of it," said Dodo.
"We agreed you had never been in such excellent spirits."
"Never. What else?"
"We agreed that I was rather a good nurse," said he.
Dodo gave a little squeak of laughter, which she instantly suppressed.
"Of course you are," she said.
"And I was saying," said Edith, "that the war hadn't made the slightest
change in any of us."
"Darling, you're wrong there," said Dodo. "It has made the most immense
difference. For instance--nowadays--we're all as poor as rats, though we
trot along still. Nowadays----"
A tall parlour-maid came in.
"The car's at the door, my lady," she said.
"Put the golf clubs in," said Dodo.
"Tell me some of the enormous differences," asked Edith.
Dodo waited till the door was closed.
"Well, we all have parlour-maids," she said.
"That's an enormous difference."
She paused a moment.
"Ah, that reminds me," she said. "Jack, I interviewed a butler this
morning, who I think will do. He wants about a thousand a year...."
Edith shouted with laughter.
"Poor as rats," she said, "and parlour-maids! Any other differences,
Dodo?"
"I wonder," she said.
THE END