“Not one way or the other?”
Claire seemed vaguely to hover over the significance of this. She said calmly enough: “Not in any way. He’s my hairdresser, a Frenchman, and so clever. He made this beautiful wig and gave it me. What do you think of my beautiful wig, isn’t it sweet?”
There was a note of exasperation in the elder woman’s voice: “Why don’t you get married, girl?”
“I’d rather work,” said Claire, “and besides, he’s already married.”
The music did begin, and a gentleman garbed as a druid came to claim auntie for a dance. The three girls were left alone.
“Did he really give you that wig?” asked the puritan maiden.
“Yes, isn’t it bonny? I love it.” She shook the dangling curls about her face. “He’s frightfully clever with hair. French! You know his saloon probably, Rabignol’s in the High Street. His wife is here, you must have seen her too—a French soldier woman—what do you call them? She hates me. She’s with a Danish captain. He is a Dane, but he is really an ice merchant. He thinks she adores him.”
“O Claire!” cried the two shocked cousins.
“But she doesn’t,” said Claire. “Sakes, I’m beginning to shiver; come along.”
They all romped back towards the orchestra. Bugloss shivered too and was glad—yes, glad—that she had gone. The tragedy had floated satisfactorily out of his hands, thank the fates; it was Rabignol’s affair. Damn Rabignol! Curse Rabignol! the bandit, the pig! He hoped that Madame Rabignol would elope with Johannes. He hoped the green-haired girl—frail and lovely thing—would behave well; and he hoped finally and frenziedly that Rabignol himself would be choked by the common hangman. Bugloss then wanted to yawn, but somehow he could not. He put on his rubber goloshes again. With unwonted audacity he stalked off firmly, even a little fiercely, across the lawn in his mackintosh and bowler hat, passing round the fringe of the dancers but looking neither to the right nor to the left, then out of the gates into the dark empty streets and so home. There, feeling rather like a Cromwell made of chutney, he disarrayed himself and crept into bed yawning and murmuring to himself: “So that’s a fancy dress ball! Sweet God, but I’m glad I went! And I could have shown them something, I could have. Say what you like, but mine was the finest costume at the show; there’s no doubt about that, it was, it was! And I’m very glad I went.”