She said:
‘It’s so subdued, it makes me want to shout . . . and that die-away
sort of music that Guy and his mother do . . . oh I know it’s
very classy . . . but it doesn’t appeal to me, too much like
church, again . . . Guy’s got a decent voice too, he sings a
lot with me, jolly different songs,’ and she smiled mischievously,
his mother wouldn’t like them!
‘Of course, the garden’s jolly, but the house is awfully dark.
I’d cut down half the trees . . . they give me the creeps at
night, all swishing on the windows . . . and I’d put on new paint,
and lots of jolly curtains instead of those faded things that
look as though they’d fall to pieces. I like stripes,’ she said,
‘I’d have a red carpet, or perhaps black, if the walls and curtains
were bright. . . . I love doing up rooms! I’ve done them all
at home; the “mater” doesn’t mind.’
And then she laughed again.
‘I love to shock you,’ she said. ‘You look as though I’d burnt
a bible! Ta-ta!’
And she ran away.
Guy said:
‘Isn’t Dinah lovely? I love to see her run!’
He came up just then, limping, on his crutches.
We turned along the terrace, and walked on, slowly.
‘You know, Helen,’ he said, ‘I can’t think what she sees in me . . .
I must seem such a dull old buffer to her . . . especially now.
I wish you could see her dance! You know, Helen,’ he said again,
‘she reminds me sometimes of you, when you used to dance . . .
and I can’t dance with her!’