I
On the morning of her dinner party for the five other Mrs. Greenes,
Mrs. Rodney Greene indulged in a spate of telephone calls. Her first
one, to Lavinia, was in the nature of an appeal for help.
"Lavinia dear," she began as soon as she got through, "I want you to
help me a little to-night. It's too bad that Martin can't come;
we're very disappointed that he won't be back till to-morrow but of
course business must come first."
"He's very sorry too, but he simply can't help it."
"No, I quite understand. But about to-night, will you be rather
specially attentive to Aunt Dora?"
"Oh Mother, I'm not very good with her."
"Nonsense! She's quite fond of you in her own way, and you know she
feels a little hurt that Helen has never taken any trouble about her,
and now she is annoyed by something that happened at Jessica's
wedding, so you must just step into the breach, my dear."
"I know what happened at the wedding. She came late and got put into
a back seat."
Lavinia's laugh rang clearly into the telephone, but Mrs. Rodney
frowned anxiously as she answered: "Well, whatever it was I don't
want it to crop up to-night, and if you'll just sit beside her after
dinner and see that she doesn't feel neglected I'm sure everything
will be quite all right."
"Very well, Mother, I'll try, but I don't think it will be very easy."
"My dear child, how absurd you are. Everything will be perfectly
easy and smooth. It ought to be a very pleasant little party. Tell
me, what frock are you wearing?"
"I haven't really thought. My new black I expect."
"Oh not black, dear. Don't you think yourself black is rather a
pity?"
There was no answer.
"What did you say, dear?" asked Mrs. Rodney.
"I didn't say anything, Mother." Lavinia's voice sounded annoyed.
"Darling, surely you don't mind my just suggesting one of your pretty
pale frocks rather than a black one?"
"I don't quite know what you mean by black being 'rather a pity'."
"It's only that I want you to look your best, you silly child, and a
pale colour is so much younger and more gay. Besides, I'll be
wearing black. Now don't forget Aunt Dora, will you, and remember
that dinner is at quarter to eight. Your Grannie doesn't like it
later. Good-bye till this evening."
She rang off, and sat at her desk for a moment, looking faintly
disturbed, before putting on a call to Jessica.
"Hullo, who's there?" asked a brusque voice.
"Can I speak to Mrs. Hugh please? Mrs. Rodney speaking."
"I don't know where Mrs. Greene is, but I'll look for her if you'll
wait a minute. Who did you say it was?"
"It's Mrs. Rodney Greene to speak to Mrs. Hugh if you please."
Edith spoke icily with an accent of rebuke, but the voice replied
quite undaunted.
"Well hold on then, I'll look for her."
There was a long wait. Edith sat holding the receiver jotting down
items on her shopping list, until ultimately she heard Jessica's
voice.
"Hullo, is that you, Mrs. Greene?"
"Good morning, Jessica. I hope everything is all right with you? I
just wanted a word with you about to-night. You're wearing your
wedding frock of course?"
"Oh, do you want me to? I meant to wear my yellow georgette. I
thought the wedding frock would be too dressed up just for a family
party."
"I hardly think so, Jessica. After all the dinner is for you, and I
think it would be a nice little courtesy to wear your gold tissue."
"Is the party really for me? How awful!"
This time it was Mrs. Rodney who maintained a silence of sheer
annoyance.
"I don't mean 'awful' of course, I only mean rather frightening."
Jessica's voice was anxious as if she were conscious of having
offended, but Mrs. Rodney replied briskly and coldly:
"There's no need to be frightened. It's very foolish of you. We
only want to welcome you into the family."
"Thank you very much; of course I'll wear my gold."
"Well, we'll see you this evening then and don't be late. Grannie
likes dinner to be very punctual. By the way, Jessica, you really
must train your maid to answer the telephone properly."
A faint gasp fluttered along the wire. "Oh must I? I don't know how
to."
"It's perfectly easy. You've only got to tell her exactly what to
say when she takes the receiver off, and incidentally you might
remind her to call you Mrs. Hugh, there are too many of us all to be
Mrs. Greenes."
"I'll try, but it's terribly difficult. She is so much older and
more severe than I am."
"I see I'll have to take you in hand a little my dear, but never mind
now. Good-bye till to-night."
The faintly perturbed frown was still on Mrs. Rodney's face as she
rang up Helen, and it deepened when a polite voice answered her
request to speak to Mrs. Geoffrey. "I'm sorry, Madam, but Mrs.
Geoffrey is engaged in her studio, and gave orders that she wasn't to
be disturbed before eleven."
"But it's Mrs. Rodney Greene speaking."
"Could you ring up again in about half an hour, Madam, or shall I ask
Mrs. Geoffrey to ring you?"
"No, I'll leave it now."
"Thank you Madam." The polite voice died away, and Mrs. Rodney
petulantly pushed the telephone aside as her husband came into the
room.
"Nothing wrong, Edith, I hope?" he asked, noticing her look of
irritation.
"No, nothing, thank you, dear. Only sometimes I get a little cross
with all the children's airs and graces."
"I shouldn't let them worry you. You've got enough to do without
bothering over them. The car's here and I'm just starting to fetch
Mother. We ought to be back in good time for lunch, and by the way
dear, do you think we ought to send the car for Dora to-night?"
Edith raised her eyebrows.
"I've arranged to do that of course," she said in a slightly pained
voice, "I'm just going to ring up Dora and let her know."
"Splendid; that's quite all right. Well I must be off now.
Good-bye."
"Good-bye, Rodney. Be sure the warm rug is in the car for your
Mother."
Mrs. Rodney sat staring out of the window until the sound of the
front door being shut disturbed her thoughts. Then she smoothed her
hair, sat very upright in her chair, pulled the telephone once again
towards her, and rang up Mrs. Edwin.
"Hullo, who are you?" she heard her sister-in-law ask.
"Good morning, Dora. It's Edith speaking. How are you?"
Her voice was unusually cordial, as if she hoped to establish a
cheerful atmosphere even through the awkward medium of the telephone
where her deliberately bright smile was lost.
"I'm not feeling very well thank you, Edith. This week is always a
particularly trying one for me you know, and the strain seems to be
telling on me more than usual this year."
"What do you say?"
"I say the strain is telling on me more than usual this year. What a
bad connection this is."
"Yes, isn't it? I'm so sorry, but what did you say you were telling
me?"
"I don't know what you mean, Edith. Hullo, are you there? This is a
disgraceful connection. I only said I was feeling the strain of this
week very badly."
"Oh! yes of course, I do sympathise with you, Dora. It's a sad time
for you I know. I just wanted a word with you about to-night."
"Really, Edith, I don't know that I shall be able to face a party
to-night."
"What do you say?"
"I said that I didn't really know whether I would be able to come
to-night or not."
"Oh that's better now. I can hear you quite clearly. Well I do hope
you'll manage to-night. We'll all be so disappointed if you can't.
The children are looking forward to seeing you, and I know Grannie
and Aunt Sarah are counting on it too."
"I don't flatter myself that the children, as you call them, care one
way or the other about me."
"Oh! that's rubbish, Dora. We all hope you will come. Now, may I
send the car for you?"
"Don't trouble, thank you very much. It is not the lack of a car
that's preventing me coming."
"No of course not, I quite understand. But I really rang up just to
offer you the car. Dinner is a little early you see because of the
old ladies, and I thought it might be a convenience."
"Very kind of you I'm sure. But as it happens I've made my own
arrangements. My friend Mrs. Blythe asked me several days ago to use
her car both for going and coming."
"That's very nice then. I'm so glad you feel able to come after all."
"I don't know that I do really. I haven't felt quite myself since
Jessica's wedding. The church was very draughty near the door and I
got badly chilled."
"That's too bad. However, we will expect you to-night; it will be
very nice to see you. Good-bye till then."
"What, Edith?"
"I said we would expect you to-night at quarter to eight. Good-bye
for the present."
"But Edith, hullo Edith, are you still there? I was just explaining
that I don't feel well enough to come."
"I'm so sorry, the telephone is really intolerable to-day, I didn't
catch what you said."
"I said I wasn't feeling quite myself."
"Well, we'll all be most disappointed, Dora, but of course if you
don't feel well enough, you're much wiser to stay at home."
"But I'd be sorry to disappoint you all. As I said before, it's a
pity you chose this date for your party, but still, I must make the
effort and come, only don't expect me to be very bright."
"How nice of you; that really is delightful."
Mrs. Rodney tried to infuse a note of warmth into her voice, but as
she heard Mrs. Edwin's voice beginning plaintively "Of course I must
say---" she added loudly and hurriedly,
"Well, au revoir, and I'm sure you'll be none the worse of it," and
rang off.
Exasperated and depressed she got up and walked up and down the room
in a state of uncharacteristic agitation. She was beset by minor
difficulties: Lavinia's annoyance at the merest hint of what to wear;
Jessica unable to manage her servant, in need of help and guidance,
but quite probably ready to resent both; Dora in her most tiresome
and difficult mood.
Mrs. Rodney sighed impatiently and rang the bell. When the butler
appeared she sat down again at her desk, took up a list and ran
through it.
"About dinner to-night, there are one or two things to arrange.
First of all, Rayner, I want you to be on the upper landing to show
everyone into the drawing-room. Evans must open the front door, but
I specially want you to announce everyone in full. Mrs. Greene is
staying in the house but I want her announced too, and be careful
just to call her Mrs. Greene, and to give the others their full
names. You know Mrs. Hugh Greene of course, but young Mr. Hugh and
his wife must be announced as Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Beckett Greene."
"I quite understand, Madam. There will be Mrs. Greene, Mrs. Hugh
Greene, Mrs. Edwin Greene, Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Greene and Mr. and
Mrs. Hugh Beckett Greene."
"Yes, that's right. I'll order flowers for the table when I'm out
this morning, and I want the Lowestoft service and the Wedgwood fruit
plates of course. It's a family dinner, but in a way it's a
celebration."
She smiled at Rayner, confident of his interest in everything
pertaining to the family.
"I'll see to everything myself, Madam," he assured her.
"Mr. Greene has told you what champagne to bring up?" she asked.
"Yes Madam, but young Mrs. Hugh never takes champagne. Should I open
a bottle of Chablis for her?"
"No, certainly not. She must take a little to-night."
"Thank you, Madam. Cook desired me to ask you if you would care for
the ice pudding to be shaped like a bell and garnished with orange
blossom. She can make a nice sugar wreath to decorate the dish."
"What a good idea. Yes, tell cook that will be very nice, and that
it is very good of her to have thought out a little compliment for
Miss Jessica. I think that's all, thank you."
An expression of satisfaction had chased away her frown. She was
pleased that the servants at least should throw themselves so keenly
into a family affair, even though the fact of their doing so
sharpened her annoyance at her children's aloof unresponsiveness.
The telephone rang shrilly. Probably Dora, she thought, and took off
the receiver reluctantly, but it was Helen's voice that said:
"Hullo, Mrs. Greene, is that you? Margaret told me you'd rung up
while I was working. I'm sorry she didn't interrupt me; she ought to
have known I'd speak to you to-day."
Mrs. Rodney was mollified by the flattering implication in Helen's
words but she hoped for a further confirmation when she answered
provocatively:
"Good morning, my dear. It was a little annoying of course, but
still you mustn't make an exception of me."
Helen's reply was casual but final.
"I couldn't ordinarily. But to-day is rather special, isn't it."
Piqued as she was at not being given preferential treatment, Mrs.
Rodney was so delighted with Helen for realising the importance of
the occasion, that she decided to ignore the other point in the
meantime. It could always be brought up later.
"I'm so glad you think so, dear," she said warmly. "It certainly is
a special occasion from my point of view. Tell me, what are you
thinking of wearing?"
"My silver and white brocade. It's much the grandest frock I've got,
so what could be more suitable?"
Mrs. Rodney wondered momentarily if there was a faint note of mockery
in Helen's tones, but decided that it must be due to the telephone.
"That's delightful. You always look so nice in it. And Helen dear,
don't be late at all, will you. It worries Grannie if dinner is a
minute later than quarter to eight."
"No, we won't be late I promise. I'll let Geoffrey drive the car."
"Do, Helen, I'm sure it's wiser."
"Was there anything else you wanted, Mrs. Greene?"
"No, nothing. I only thought I'd remind you about the hour."
"Well, good-bye Mrs. Greene, and good luck with your stage managing.
I hope the production will be good."
"Helen, hullo Helen, don't go yet. Tell me what you mean, dear?"
Again a faint doubt of Helen's good faith crossed Mrs. Rodney's mind,
but she was reassured by Helen's calm explanation.
"I mean about to-night. You'll have to stage manage the whole
affair, and I'm sure it will go beautifully. I propose to enjoy
myself enormously as one of the humbler members of the caste."
"Oh I see," Mrs. Rodney resolutely stilled her doubts, and went on
playfully: "Of course a good hostess always has to stage manage a
little, and even more in a family party. Good-bye, dear child, till
this evening, and don't be late."
Going upstairs to put on her hat Edith Greene's mind was busy over
the choice of flowers for the table. White flowers seemed to her the
most ceremonial but she rejected chrysanthemums as being too clumsy
and lilies of the valley as being reminiscent of the sick room. I
must strike the right note with my flowers, she thought. I want the
whole thing to be sufficiently important. Lilies, of course, Madonna
lilies, so suitable both for old Mrs. Greene and Jessica; they would
be exactly right.
Her face cleared and she went briskly out, confident that the scene
was set for the evening's play.