“Tell me something about the Lextons, Mary. Where did you pick them
up?” asked Lady Flora Desmond of her hostess, Mrs. Hampton. “As I
looked at Mrs. Lexton during dinner, I thought I had never seen a
prettier face. When I was a child, your little friend would have been
what people then called a professional beauty.”
“She certainly is very pretty, and a regular honey-pot! Look at her
now, with Miles Rushworth?”
The speaker nodded towards the wide-open French window of the
high-ceilinged, oval eighteenth-century sitting-room. She and two
other women were sitting there together after dinner, on the Saturday
evening of what Mrs. Hampton thought promised to be a very successful
week-end party.
The window gave access to a broad stone terrace. Beyond the terrace
lay a wide lawn, bathed in bright moonlight, and across the lawn
sauntered very slowly two figures, that of a tall man, and that of a
slender woman dressed in a light-coloured frock. They were moving away
from the beautiful old country-house where they were both staying as
guests, making for an avenue of beeches.
Mary Hampton went on, speaking not unkindly, but with a certain
tartness: “He took her out in his motor after tea, so she might have
left him alone after dinner.”
“You oughtn’t to complain, my dear! You told me this morning that you
had asked the Lextons this week-end so that they could make friends
with your millionaire,” observed Joan Rodney.
She was a sharp-tongued, clever spinster who enjoyed putting her
friends right, and telling them home truths. Much was forgiven to Miss
Rodney because she was, if sharp-tongued, fundamentally kind-hearted.
“My millionaire, as you call him, is one of the finest amateur
billiard-players in England. I made Jack get hold of the best of the
young ‘pros.’ He could only spare us this evening, and now that all
the men, and two of the women, are either playing or watching the play
in the billiard-room, Miles is philandering with Ivy Lexton in the
garden!”
“Not philandering, Mary,” observed Lady Flora, smiling. “Mr. Rushworth
never philanders.”
“Well! You know what I mean. It’s my fault, of course. I ought to have
known that no party would be big enough to hold Ivy Lexton and another
attraction. Last time she was here she snatched such a nice boy from
his best girl, and stopped, I’m afraid, a proposal.”
Lady Flora looked sorry. A plain woman herself, she admired, without a
touch of envy, physical beauty more than she admired anything else in
the world.
“I don’t suppose Mrs. Lexton can help attracting men. It’s human
nature after all----”
Quoted Joan Rodney, with a sharp edge to her voice:
“It’s human nature but, if so, oh!
Isn’t human nature low?”
“Little Ivy isn’t exactly low; at least I hope not,” observed little
Ivy’s hostess reflectively. “But I do feel that there’s a curiously
soulless quality about her. Though she’s not what people call clever,
there’s something baffling about Ivy Lexton. I liked her much better
when I first knew her.”
“She mayn’t be what silly people call clever, but she’s plenty of what
used to be called ‘nous,’” said Miss Rodney drily. “She engineered her
stroll with Mr. Rushworth very cleverly to-night. Your husband was
determined to get him into the billiard-room----”
“She had a good excuse for that, Joan. As I told you yesterday, Jervis
Lexton has been looking out for something to do for a long while.”
Mrs. Hampton turned to her other friend. “It suddenly occurred to me,
Flora, that Miles Rushworth, who must have many jobs in his gift,
might find Jervis Lexton something to do. Ivy knows that I asked them
both for this week-end on purpose that they might meet him. It isn’t
easy to get hold of him for this kind of party.”
“Have you known the Lextons long, Mary?” asked Lady Flora.
She felt genuinely interested in Mrs. Jervis Lexton. The quiet,
old-fashioned, some would have said very limited, middle-aged widow,
and lovely, restless, self-absorbed, and very modern Ivy Lexton, had
“made friends.”
“I have known Jervis ever since he was born. His father was a friend
of my father’s. But I had not seen him for years till I ran across
him, in town, about three months ago. The last time I had seen him was
early in the war, when his father had just died, and he had been given
a fortnight’s leave. He’s what Jack calls quite a good sort; but it’s
bad for a young man to become his own master at twenty. He seems to
have married this lovely little thing when he was twenty-two. That’s
six years ago.”
“They seem to get on very well,” observed Lady Flora.
“I think they do, though I’m afraid they’ve muddled away most of his
money in having what Ivy considers a good time. He must have come into
a fair fortune, for his father had sold their place just before the
war.”
“What fools young people seem to be to-day--I mean compared to the old
days!” exclaimed Joan Rodney harshly.
She went on: “John Oram--you know, Mary, the big solicitor--once told
me that of ten men who sell their land at any given time, only two
have anything of the purchase-price left at the end of ten years.”
“Jervis Lexton won’t be one of those two men,” said his hostess
regretfully. “Ivy told me to-day that they’re fearfully hard up.”
“People often say that when it is laughably untrue! It’s the fashion
to pretend one’s poor. Mrs. Lexton dresses beautifully. She must spend
a great deal of money on her clothes,” interjected Joan Rodney.
“I’m afraid there was no pretence about what Ivy told me this morning.
She looked really worried, poor little thing! I do hope she will get
something good for Jervis out of Miles Rushworth.”
“She makes most of her frocks herself; it’s so easy nowadays,” said
Lady Flora. And then she added: “She was telling me to-day about her
girlhood. Her father failed in business, through no fault of his own,
and for a little while she was on the stage----”
“Only a walking-on part in a musical comedy,” observed Joan Rodney,
“if what her husband, who strikes me as an honest young fellow, told
me is true. However, I’m surprised, even so, that she didn’t do better
for herself in what I have heard described as the straight road to the
peeresses’ gallery, to say nothing of ‘another place.’”
“Joan! Joan!” cried Mrs. Hampton deprecatingly.
Miss Rodney got up and came across to where her hostess sat under a
heavily-shaded lamp.
She put her left elbow on the marble mantelpiece, and looking down
into the other’s now upturned face, “I don’t like your little friend,”
she said deliberately. “I’ve been studying her closely ever since she
arrived on Thursday afternoon, though she didn’t seem aware of my
existence till after lunch to-day. When I was in America last year,
they’d invented a name for that sort of young woman. She’s out, all
the time, for what she can get. ‘A gold-digger’--that’s the slang
American term for that kind of young person, Mary. I know what I’m
talking about.”
“How can you possibly know?”
“By instinct, my dear! If I were you I should give pretty Mrs. Lexton
a very wide berth.”
And then, rather to the relief of the other two, she exclaimed,
“Having done what’s always foolish--that is, said exactly what I
think--I’m off to watch the champion billiard-player.”
After she had left the room, Mrs. Hampton said slowly, “It’s sad to
hear a good woman, for Joan is really a good woman, say such cruel,
unkind things.”
“It’s odd, too, for no one can show more real understanding sympathy
when one’s in trouble,” answered Lady Flora in a low voice. She was
remembering a time of frightful sorrow in her own life, when Joan
Rodney had been one of the few friends whose presence had not jarred
on her.
“Ah, well! She’s devoted to you. Also, you’re an angel, Flora, so
there’s no great merit in being kind to you. What Joan Rodney can’t
forgive in another woman is youth, happiness----”
“And, I suppose, beauty,” interjected Lady Flora. “Yet to me there is
something so disarming, so pathetic, about Mrs. Lexton.”
“Then Joan has such a poor opinion of human nature,” went on Mrs.
Hampton in a vexed tone. “You heard with what delight she quoted that
horrid little bit of doggerel. Still, quite between ourselves, Flora,
I must admit that, in a sense, she is more right than she knows about
Ivy Lexton.”
Lady Flora looked dismayed. “In what way, Mary?”
“Ivy is very fond of money, or rather of spending it. In fact she is
idiotically extravagant. She is dancing mad, and belongs to the two
most expensive night clubs in town. It’s her fault that they’ve
frittered away a lot of Jervis Lexton’s capital. Also, there’s a side
to her, for all her pretty manners, that isn’t pretty at all.”
“How d’you mean?” and the other looked puzzled.
Mrs. Hampton hesitated. Then she smiled a little ruefully. “My maid
told me that when Ivy arrived she was quite rude to Annie--you know,
my nice old housemaid?--because there was no bottle of scent on her
dressing-table! There was one, it seems, last time she was here. It
had been left by some visitor--I don’t undertake to provide such
luxuries.”
“That doesn’t sound very nice, certainly,” Lady Flora looked naïvely
surprised.
“Then, if I’m to be really honest, my dear, there’s no doubt that one
reason why Joan Rodney has taken such a ferocious dislike to Ivy
Lexton is owing to the fact that I stupidly told Ivy this morning of
Joan’s marvellous bit of luck--I mean of that big legacy from the
American cousin. I’m afraid that’s why Ivy, who behaved all yesterday
as if Joan hardly existed, began at once to make up to her! But pretty
ways are very much lost on our Joan.”
She began to laugh. She really couldn’t help it, remembering the way
her friend had received the younger woman’s overtures of friendship.
Lady Flora looked disturbed, for she was one of those rare human
beings to whom it is a pain to think ill of anybody.
“After all, Joan’s money is of no good to anyone but herself, Mary? I
don’t see why you should suppose poor little Mrs. Lexton made up to
her because of that legacy.”
The other looked at her fixedly.
“Ivy Lexton has a good deal in common with the heroine of Jack’s
favourite drawing-room story.”
“What story?” asked Lady Flora. Her host’s rather sly sense of humour
had never appealed to her, though they were quite good friends.
“The story of the lady who said to her husband, ‘Oh, do let’s go and
see them; they’re so rich!’ to be met with the answer, ‘My dear, I
would if it was catching!’”
Lady Flora looked a little puzzled. “He was quite right. Money is not
catching, though I suppose most people wish it were.”
“A great many people are convinced that it is, Flora, and our little
Ivy is among them. I’m sure she feels that if she rubs herself up
against it close enough, a little will certainly come off. And I’m not
sure, in her case, that she’s not right!”
But Lady Flora could be obstinate in her mild way.
“I like Mrs. Lexton,” she said gently. “I’m going to call on her when
we’re all in town again. She’s promised to take me to a nice quiet
night club. I’ve always longed to see one. I want my sister-in-law, I
mean Jenny, to know her. Jenny loves young people. She gives amusing
little dances----”
“I think you’ll make a mistake if you introduce Ivy to the Duchess.”
“I don’t see why, my dear? After all, Mary, your little friend has
been very sweet to me, and that though she knows I’m really poor.”
The other woman gave a quick look at her friend. Sometimes she thought
Flora Desmond too good, too simple, even for human nature’s daily
food.