5
But it was fascinating, like something in a novel come true; the latest tableau in all the wedding tableaux; their own. Bennett and Gerald had swept the lonely Henderson family into this. One was going to be a sister-in-law for certain, to-morrow.... Held up by this dignity Miriam concentrated on her folds and loops, adjusting and pinning with her back to the room, listening to the sparring and giggling, the sounds of the tinkling glasses—the scissors snipping and dropping with a rattle on to the table, the soft flurring of shifted blossoms. The moment was coming. The man was being impudently patronising to Eve, but really talking at her, trying to make her turn round. She did not want him. There was something ... some quality in men that this kind of man did not possess ... something she knew ... who? It was somewhere, but not in him. Still, his being there gave an edge to her freedom and happiness. She owed him some kind of truth ... some blow or shock. Holding her last festoon in place she consulted some jumbled memory and found a phrase: “Will you people leave off squabbling and just see if this is all right before I nail it up?” She spoke in a cool even tone that filled the room. It startled her, making her feel sad, small and guilty. Still with her back to the room she waited during the moment of silence that followed her words. “It’s simply lovely, Mirry,” said Eve. Had she been more vulgar than Eve? She knew her decoration was all right and did not want an opinion. She wanted to crush the man’s behaviour, trample on it and fling it out of the room. Eve was sweeter and more lovable than she. Mother said it was natural and right to laugh and joke with young men. No ... no ... no....
She glanced, asking Eve to hold the corner while she went for the hammer and nails. Eve came eagerly forward. The man was standing upright and motionless by the table, looking quietly at her as she stood back for Eve to substitute a supporting hand. “Er—let me do that,” he said gravely—“or go for the hammer.” He was at the door: “Oh—thanks,” said Miriam, in a hard tone; “you will find it in the kitchen.”
Eve remained holding the muslin with downcast face and conscious lips. Seizing a vase of anemones Miriam put it on the marble, bunching up the muslin to hide the vase.
“This is their smoking-room,” she said, her voice praying for tolerance. Eve beamed sadly and gladly. “Yes—isn’t it jolly?” Joining hands they waltzed about the room. Eve did not really mind; she fought, but there was something in her that did not mind.