"And they will telegraph news of him here?"
"Yes."
He lifted me out of the dog-cart at the door of Cromer Court; his face
looked grey.
"God bless you," he said, "for coming back to us!"
*XII*
We dined in Mrs. Cromer's room.
She insisted and would take no denial.
I thought she seemed stronger and more lovely than ever; she was full of
whims and loveliness. She seemed to sparkle with happiness. She sent
us away, she wanted a consultation with the cook.
"It is to be a very special dinner," she told us. "And Pam is to go and
lie down. Sweetheart, have you a white frock?"
"No," I said, "only pink, dear, pink and grey."
"You must wear white," she said. "I am bubbling with schemes for my
dinner of dinners. I have a frock for you, Pam. Nurse shall bring
it--you'll look like a funny little Dutch princess in it, stepped out of
an old Dutch fairy-tale book. Now run away, Honey."
Nurse was perturbed when she brought the frock; it was of softest ivory
white satin, made in Empire style with a wealth of real point de rose
lace.
"She will insist," she said, "and the doctor said she was to have her
own way as much as possible--but I don't know. I don't know, I'm sure.
She says you are to wear this pearl comb in your hair, and these little
white satin shoes studded with pearls. Aren't they ducks? Are you
going to pile your hair on the top of your head like those funny old
pictures downstairs? I wish the doctor would call again. I think he'd
veto this dinner idea, but I'm not sure it wouldn't upset her more to be
thwarted than to give it. She's wonderful."
There are moments in everyone's life when you feel as if you're taking
part in an unreal play; there comes a sudden feeling of panic, as if you
did not know your part. I got it that night when I was dressing--and
yet there was a dreadful thrilling, electric sweetness about it all.
I was excited, my fingers and my toes tingled and my spine felt creepy;
and when I brushed my hair it cracked with electricity, and a funny
little nerve near my ear that always betrays itself when I am excited
began to wriggle.
I suppose there is something of the joy of forbidden fruit in it--but it
is _wonderful_ and gorgeous to have Cheneston look at me like a lover,
even though I know it is only to satisfy his mother.
I think it is awful the way we women can kid ourselves about love,
drench ourselves in a sweetness that isn't really there, get intoxicated
with a joy that exists only in our own imaginations.
If I had been going to the altar with Cheneston I couldn't have been
more thrilled than I was when I entered Mrs. Cromer's room.
Cheneston rose. He was looking very white and bewildered; and suddenly
the fact that he was nonplussed made me feel almost cruelly gay and
confident.
"Pam!" Mrs. Cromer said. "Oh, boy! boy! isn't she the very sweetest
thing that ever happened?"
"Surely," he said.
There was a round table laid for two, with a white linen tablecloth with
a border of real lace eight inches wide, and in the centre stood a huge
white and gold Venetian glass basket filled with lilies of the valley
and maidenhair fern.
"I am going to have a little white love-feast all to myself for my two
children," she said.