1
ADMIRAL BOURNE was the first to arrive. He liked the children, and Milly
sidled up and stood between his knees, certain of her welcome.
"Pretty hair!" he remarked thoughtfully, stroking her curls, "and how is
Miss Joan getting on? You haven't let your hair grow yet, Miss Joan."
Joan laughed. "It's more comfortable short," she said.
"So it is," agreed the admiral. "Capital, capital!"
"You must come and see my cream mice, dozens of them----" he began. But
at that moment Elizabeth and her brother were announced and Joan hurried
to meet them. She examined Mr. Rodney with a new interest, for now he
was not just father's friend at the club, but he was Elizabeth
Rodney's brother. She thought: "He looks old, old, old, and yet I don't
believe he is very old. His eyes are greenish like Elizabeth's, only
somehow his eyes look timid like Mother's, and Elizabeth's remind me of
the sea. I wonder what makes his back so humped, his coat goes all in
ridges----" Then she suddenly felt very sorry for him, he looked so
dreadfully humble.
Elizabeth, tall and erect, was dressed in some soft green material; she
appeared a little unnatural to the children, who had grown accustomed to
her tailor-made blouses and skirts. Her strong brown hair was carefully
dressed as usual, but as usual a curl or two sprang away from the
hair-pins, straying over her ears and in the nape of her neck. Elizabeth
was always pale, but to-day she looked very vital; she was conscious of
looking her best, of creating an effect. Then she suddenly wondered
whether Joan liked her dress, but even as she wondered she remembered
that Joan was only thirteen.
Joan was thinking: "She looks like a tree. Why haven't I noticed before
how exactly like a tree she is; it must be the green dress. But her eyes
are like water, all greeny and shadowy and deep looking--a tree near a
pool, that's what she's like, a tall tree. A beech tree? No, that's too
spready--a larch tree, that's Elizabeth; a larch tree just greening
over."
The rooms began to fill, and people wandered in and out; it was really
quite like a reception. There was a pleasant babble of conversation.
James had come in; he had said to himself: "Must look in and share the
Mem-Sahib's little triumph--poor Mary!" He really looked quite
distinguished in his grey frock coat and black satin tie. Here were
General and Mrs. Brooke. By common consent the two old war horses buried
their feud on "Anniversary Day." It was: "How are you, Ogden?"
"Glad to see you, General!"
They would beam at each other across their black satin ties; after
all--the Service, you know!
Sir Robert and Lady Loo were shown in; good, that they had arrived when
the rooms were at their fullest. Lady Loo came forward with her vague
toothy smile. She looked like a very old hunter, long in the face, long
in the leg and knobbly, distinctly knobbly. Her dress hung on her like
badly fitting horse-clothing. To her spare bosom a diamond and sapphire
crescent clung with a kind of desperation as if to an insufficient
foothold; you felt that somehow there was not enough to pin it to, that
there never would be enough to pin anything to on Lady Loo. But for all
this there was something nice about her; the kind of niceness that
belongs to old dogs and old horses, and that had never been entirely
absent from Lady Loo.
As she sat down by Mrs. Ogden, her bright brown eyes looked
inquisitively round the room, resting for an instant on the admiral's
portrait, and then on the relics upon the occasional table. Mrs. Ogden
watched her, secretly triumphant.
"Dear Lady Loo. How good of you to come to our little gathering. _My_
Day I call it--very foolish of me--but after all---- Oh, yes, how very
kind of you---- But then, why rob your hothouses for poor little me? You
forgot to bring them? Oh, never mind, it's the thought that counts, is
it not? Your speaking of peaches makes me feel quite homesick for
Chesham--we had such acres of glass at Chesham!--Yes, that is Joan--come
here, Joan dear! Naughty child, she will insist on keeping her hair
short. You think it suits her? Really? Clever? Well--run away, Joan
darling--yes, frankly, very clever, so Miss Rodney thinks. Attractive?
You think so? Now fancy, my husband always thinks Milly is the pretty
one. Shall I ask Joan to recite or shall Milly play first? What do you
think? Joan first, oh, all right--Joan, dear!"
The dreaded moment had arrived; Joan, shy and awkward, floundered
through her recitation.
"Capital, capital!" cried Admiral Bourne, who had taken a fancy to her.
Elizabeth felt hot; why in heaven's name make a fool of Joan like that?
Joan couldn't recite and never would be able to. And then the child's
dress--what possessed Mrs. Ogden to make her wear white? Joan was too
awful in white, it made her skin look yellow. Then the dress was too
short; Joan's dresses always were; and yet she was her mother's
favourite. Curious--perhaps Mrs. Ogden wanted to make her look young;
well, she couldn't keep her a baby for ever. When would Joan begin to
assert her individuality? When she was fifteen, seventeen, perhaps?
Elizabeth felt that she could dress Joan; she ought to wear dark
colours, she knew exactly what she ought to wear. At that moment Joan
came over to her, she was flushed and still looked shy.
"Beastly rot, that poem!"
Elizabeth surveyed her: "Oh, Joan, you're so like a colt." And she
laughed.
Joan wanted to say: "You're like a larch tree that's just greening over,
a tree by the side of a pool." But she was silent.
The noise of conversation broke out afresh. Milly, longing to be asked
to play, was pretending to adjust the clasp of her violin case.
Elizabeth looked from one child to the other and could not help smiling.
Then she said: "Joan, do you like my dress?"
"Like it?" Joan stammered; "I think it's beautiful."
Elizabeth wanted to say, "Do you think me at all beautiful, Joan?" But
something inside her began to laugh at this absurdity, while she said:
"I'm so glad you like it, it was new for to-day."
"Now, Milly, play for us," came Mrs. Ogden's voice. "Miss Rodney will
accompany you, I'm sure."
Milly did not blush, she remained cool and pale--small and cool and pale
she stood there in her white cashmere smock, making lovely sounds with
as much ease and confidence as if she had been playing by herself in an
empty room.
Extraordinary child. She looked almost inspired, coldly inspired--it was
queer. When she had finished playing, her little violin master came out
of the corner in which he had been hidden.
"Very good--excellent!" he said, patting her shoulder; and Milly smiled
quite placidly. Then she grew excited all of a sudden and skipped around
the room for praise.
Joan sat beside her mother; very gently she squeezed her hand, looking
up into Mrs. Ogden's face. She saw that it was animated and young, and
the change thrilled her with pleasure. Mrs. Ogden looked down into her
daughter's eyes. She whispered: "Do you like my dress, darling; am I
looking nice?"
"Lovely, Mother--so awfully pretty!" But Joan thought: "The same thing,
they both wanted to know if I liked their dresses, how funny! But Mother
doesn't look like a tree just greening over--what does Mother look
like?" She could not find a simile and this annoyed her. Mrs. Ogden's
dress was grey, it suited her admirably, falling about her still girlish
figure in long, soft folds. No one could say that Mary Ogden never
looked pretty these days, that was quite certain; for she looked pretty
this afternoon, with the delicate somewhat faded prettiness of a flower
that has been pressed between the pages of a book. Suddenly Joan
thought: "I know--I've got it, Elizabeth is like a tree and Mother's
like a dove, a dove that lights on a tree. No, that won't do, I don't
believe somehow that Mother would like to light on Elizabeth, and I
don't think Elizabeth would like to be lit on. What is she like then?"