LETTERS FROM A DÉBUTANTE.
My dear Marjorie,—You are hard on poor Oriel Crampton when you say that philanthropy, brisk walks, a bad temper, and a taste for collecting postage-stamps, form the most hideous combination any human being could imagine. Of course, I admit he's a little dreary. All is now over between us. Things reached a climax one rainy afternoon when Baby Beaumont, in a mood of intense juvenility, offered "to teach Oriel to make barley-sugar." Forgeting his school-days, Oriel patronisingly said he was glad to learn from anyone. So Baby seized Oriel's arm, twisted it round in the classical manner, and then hit the twist. It was quite impossible to help laughing when Oriel, pale with fury, declared he could take a joke, supposed this was the New Humour, and left the room. "What can you expect," said Baby, "of the middle-aged?" (Oriel is not twenty-four yet.)
That evening I wrote a note, putting an end to our engagement.
I gave it to him in the billiard-room, and—he gave me one at the same time, and—to the same effect! I felt dreadfully hurt at his throwing me over. He wrote, "I feel I have no right to ask you, who are so fitted to shine in the society of the gay and decadent" (this meant Baby), "to share a life that will be wholly dedicated to the amelioration of the condition of the poorer classes," &c.
In the midst of our agitation, we were compelled to play "musical chairs" with the others, as if nothing had happened! What a mockery it seemed!
We parted amicably. He asked if I should like to hear, from time to time, of the progress of his life-work, and I promised to be his sister.... When he went away, a strange sense of loss came over me.... One page in my life had been turned for ever!... Baby tried to console me by observing that now there would be a chance of getting plenty of hot water for baths. Oriel used to drink it all.
At the tennis-party Mrs. Lorne Hopper seemed utterly bored by Captain Mashington. She said my dress wanted "taking up on the shoulders," and that the sleeves were exaggerated. (Exaggerated! I should hope they were!) Mr. Lorne Hopper seemed nice, and very quiet, and harmless at first, but it gradually came out that he does sketches at the piano in the style of Corney Grain, and what is worse, expects to be asked to do them.
Lady Taymer implored us all to laugh, and we did our best to please our hostess; but the room was nearly empty in five minutes.
At dinner, Baby talked of the bad taste and imbecility of practical jokes. In the evening, he wrote to seventeen periodicals denying he had written The Mauve Camellia, and asking to have it contradicted. We waltzed. Captain Mashington dances better than ever, and has nice eyes. That night I found hair-brushes in my bed, I see nothing funny in it, and shall not speak to Baby Beaumont until he apologises.
Great excitement prevailed here last week. It was discovered that Samovarski, the great Russian pianist, was in the neighbourhood. He accepted an invitation to come here for two days. Imagine the joy of the Lyon Taymers! They sent out invitations with "To meet M. Samovarski," printed on the cards. He is known to be rather erratic, but as he was actually to stay in the house it seemed quite safe. Thirty-six people came to a dinner in his honour.
Samovarski arrived at seven, asked for some lager beer, and went straight to bed. Nothing on earth would induce him to get up, or even to unlock his door or answer an inquiry. It was a terrible evening. The Taymers hoped on for the next day. The great composer got up at two. Many people had stayed on the chance of hearing him play. It was a beautiful day, and Lady Taymer entreated to be allowed to drive him round the neighbourhood. He declined, and spent the whole afternoon playing piquet with his secretary. At dinner, he talked absurdities about the Chinese war, refusing even to mention music—which it seems he detests—and then, very courteously, begged to be excused, as he had to correct the proofs of his article "Impressions of English Country Life" for some Moscow journal.... Do not mention the subject to the Taymers when you see them. We are going to have private theatricals!! I will write again soon.
Your loving friend,
Gladys.
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.