Part 65 (1/2)

No reply.

”Why in St Briac instead of here?”

Still no reply.

”How often have you been for these rides?”

”About eight or ten times, father.”

”Did mother know about it?”

”No, father.”

”Then that means that you've been practically every day for a fortnight?”

No reply.

”Very well, Jennie. Now listen to what I have to say.”

Enough. You see the style of it. Alec is an affectionate father, but, his grumbling indulgence to Madge notwithstanding, there are no two ways about his being master in his own house. The upshot of it was that a maid was to be sent to fetch that bicycle first thing in the morning, and back it was to go to the shop where it had come from. Further, if Jennie wished to see this M. Arnaud again, it must only be by express permission from himself. There was plenty of amus.e.m.e.nt at the Tennis Club among young fellows they knew something about, and--not another word. It ought never to have begun, but anyway it was done with now and need not be referred to again. She had better go and have some tea if she hadn't had any, and as for _the dansant_ to-morrow afternoon, if she wanted a new frock for it she might have one. Now run along, and don't be late for dinner.

Of the five of us, Alec was easily the most cheerful at that evening's meal. His duty done--kindly, he hoped, but anyway done--he talked about anything but that afternoon's unpleasantness. Then, rather to my surprise, about half-way through dinner Julia began to second his efforts. We sat round the Ganymede, two men and three women, Alec between Julia and his wife, Jennie between Madge and myself. Everybody, Alec included, was kindness itself to the silent child, and _the dansant_ was talked of. The Beverleys were giving it. They had engaged a room at one of the hotels, and Madge had been helping to decorate that afternoon.

”Those were the Beverley girls bathing with us this afternoon, weren't they, Jennie?” Julia asked across me.

”Yes.”

”Aren't they just a little--stand-offish?”

”I don't know. I didn't notice. Are they?” said Jennie dully.

”They're----” Alec began, but checked himself. In the circ.u.mstances the upbringing of the Beverley girls was not the happiest of subjects, and Madge struck hastily in.

”One gets almost sick of the hydrangeas here, Julia, but they're really most extraordinarily effective. We've put four great tubs of them, ice-blue almost, in the corners, as big as this table nearly, and against all that cream-and-gold.... Oh, Jennie! You know father says you can have whichever of those frocks you like. I should say the voile.

Which do you think?”

”I don't care which, mother. My last one's all right. I don't want another.”

Again across the table from Julia: ”That's a darling one you're wearing now!”

”Do you like it, Aunt Julia?”

”Sweet!”

”And oh, Julia,” suddenly in a little outburst from Madge, ”honestly, now! Do you think I could wear those sleeves, or those not-any-sleeves-at-all rather--you know--the quite new ones, that show your arm from the very top of your shoulder? You _must_, of course, with your arms--it's your duty--but I'm not so sure about me----”

”Stuff and nonsense, of course you can. And I'm certainly going to,”

Julia declared.

”Bit French, aren't they?” said Alec over his canape. ”I've seen 'em.”

”He's seen 'em, Julia!” Madge laughed. ”Don't tell me after that that a man doesn't notice what a woman has on--at any rate if there's as little of it as there is of those sleeves! But let's settle Jennie's frock first. _I_ think the voile. And you can wear a hat with it or not, just as you like.”