Part 121 (1/2)
Directly opposite was a little pasty-faced woman with small, bright eyes. Victoria, by virtue of her relations.h.i.+p to Major Perigal, faced her father-in-law at the bottom of the table; upon her right sat the most distinguished-looking man Mavis had ever seen. Tall, finely proportioned, with n.o.ble, regular features, surmounted by grey hair, he suggested to Mavis a fighting bishop of the middle ages: she wondered who he was. The soldier on her left talked incessantly, but, to Mavis's surprise, he made no mention of his campaigns; he spoke of nothing else but rose culture, his persistent ill-luck at flower shows, the unfairness of the judging. The meal was long and, even to Mavis, to whom a dinner party was in the nature of an experience, tedious.
Infrequent relief was supplied by the pasty-faced woman opposite, who was the General's wife; she did her best to shock the susceptibilities of those present by being in perpetual opposition to their stolid views.
An elderly woman, whose face showed the ravages of time upon what must have been considerable beauty (somehow she looked rather disreputable), had referred to visits she had paid, when in London for the season, to a sister who lived in Eccleston Square.
”Such a dreadful neighbourhood!” she complained. ”It made me quite ill to go there.”
”I love it,” declared Lady Ludlow.
”That part of London!” exclaimed the faded beauty.
”Why not? Whatever life may be there, it is honest in its unconcealment. And to be genuine is to be n.o.ble.”
”You're joking, Kate,” protested the faded beauty.
”I'm doing nothing of the kind. Give me Pimlico,” declared Lady Ludlow emphatically.
At mention of Pimlico, Mavis and Windebank involuntarily glanced into each other's eyes; the name of this district recalled many memories to their minds.
When dinner was over, Mavis had hardly reached the drawing-room with the women-folk, when Lady Ludlow pounced upon her.
”I've been so anxious to meet you,” she declared. ”You're one of the lucky ones.”
”Since when am I lucky?” asked Mavis.
”Since your father died and you had to earn your living till you were married. Old Jimmy Perigal told me all about it. You're to be envied.”
”I fail to see why.”
”You've mixed with the world and have escaped living with all these stuffy bores.”
”They don't know how lucky they are,” remarked Mavis with conviction.
”Nonsense! Give me life and the lower orders. What did my husband talk about during dinner?”
”Roses.”
”Of course. When he was at his wars, I had some peace. Now I'm bored to death with flowers.”
”Who was that distinguished-looking man who sat on Mrs Charles Perigal's right?” asked Mavis.
”That's Lord Robert Keevil, whose brother is the great tin-G.o.d 'Seend.'”
”The Marquis of Seend?” queried Mavis.
”That's it: he was foreign minister in the last Government. But Bobbie Keevil is adorable till he's foolish enough to open his mouth. Then he gives the game away.”
”What do you mean?”
”He's the complete fool. If he would only hold his tongue, he might be a success. His wife is over there. Her eyes are always weeping for the loss of her beauty. Your father wanted to marry her in his youth. But give me people who don't bother about such tiresome conventionalities as marriage.”