12
All preparations for the evening were made and the younger members of the household were having a late tea in the breakfast-room. “We’ve done the alcoves,” said Sarah explosively, “in case it rains.”
Nan Babington sat up in her long chair to bring her face round to the deep bay where Sarah stood.
“My dear! Seraphina! And she’s doing the pink bows! Will some saint take my cup? Ta.... My dear, how perfectly screaming.”
Miriam raised her head from the petal-scattered table, where she lay prone side by side with Harriett, to watch Nan sitting up in her firm white dress beaming at Sarah through her slanting eye.
“What flowers you going to wear, Nan?”
Nan patted her sleek slightly Japanese-looking hair. “Ah ... splashes of scarlet, my dear. Splashes of scarlet. One in my hair and one here.” She patted the broad level of her enviable breast towards the left shoulder.
“Almost on the shoulder, you know—arranged flat, can’t be squashed and showing as you dance.”
“Geraniums! Oom. You’ve got awfully good taste. What a frightfully good effect. Bright red and bright white. Clean. Go on, Nan.”
“Killing,” pursued Nan. “Tom said at breakfast with his mouth absolutely full of sweet-bread, ‘it’ll rain’—growled, you know, with his mouth crammed full. ‘Never mind, Tommy,’ said Ella with the utmost promptitude, ‘they’re sure to have the alcoves.’ ‘Oomph,’ growled Tommy, pretending not to care. Naughty Tommy, naughty, naughty Tommy!”
“Any cake left?” sighed Miriam, sinking back amongst her petals and hoping that Nan’s voice would go on.
“You girls are the most adorable individuals I ever met.... Did anybody see Pearlie going home this afternoon?”
Everyone chuckled and waited.
“My dears! My dears!! Bevan dragged me along to the end of the pavilion to see him enter up the handicaps with his new automatic pen—awfully smashing—and I was just hobbling the last few yards past the apple trees when we saw Pearlie hand-in-hand with the Botterford boys, prancing along the asphalt court—prancing, my dears!”
Miriam and Harriett dragged themselves up to see. Nan bridled and swayed from listener to listener, her wide throat gleaming as she sang out her words.
“Prancing—with straggles of grey hair sticking out and that tiny sailor hat cocked almost on to her nose. My dear, you sh’d’ve seen Bevan! He put up his eyeglass, my dears, for a fraction of a second,” Nan’s head went up—“Madame Pompadour,” thought Miriam—and her slanting eyes glanced down her nose, “and dropped it, clickety-click. You sh’d’ve seen the expression on his angelic countenance.”
“I say, she is an awful little creature, isn’t she?” said Miriam, watching Eve bend a crimson face over the tea-tray on the hearthrug. “She put her boots on the pavilion table this afternoon when all those men were there—about a mile high they are—with tassels. Why does she go on like that?”
“Men like that sort of thing,” said Sarah lightly.
“Sally!”
“They do.... I believe she drinks.”
“Sally! My dear!”
“I believe she does. She’s always having shandygaff with the men.”
“Oh, well, perhaps she doesn’t,” murmured Eve.
“Chuck me a lump of sugar, Eve.”
Miriam subsided once more amongst the rose petals.
“Bevvy thinks I oughtn’t to dance.”
“Did he say so?”
“Of course, my dear. But old Wyman said I could, every third, except the Lancers.”
“You sh’d’ve seen Bevvy’s face. ‘Brother Tommy doesn’t object,’ I said. ‘He’s going to look after me!’ ‘Is he?’ said Bevvy in his most superior manner.”
“What a fearful scrunching you’re making,” said Harriett, pinching Miriam’s nose.