“Ah, little Vi! It’s pleasant to see you again,” he said. “How are you, North?” His voice was soft and thick, but had the beauty of perfect pronunciation.
It was the only sound ever known to check his wife’s amazing flow of conversation. She owned herself that it had been difficult, but she had recognized the necessity early in their married life.
“You see, no one wanted to hear me talk if they could hear him,” she explained. “Now it has become a habit. Condor has only to say ‘Ah!’ and I stop like an automaton.”
At this moment she was following him from the car amid the usual shower of various belongings. Violet and her husband assisted her while North and Mansfield gathered up the débris.
“Yes, my dears, we have been to a meeting as usual. Natural—I mean National Economy. Condor made a really admirable speech, recommending impossible things; excellent, of course—only impossible! My glasses? Thank you, Roger. Yes, isn’t the car shabby? I am so thankful. A new Rolls-Royce has such a painfully rich appearance, hasn’t it? And the old ones go just as well, if not better. That scarf? Um—yes—perhaps I will want it. Let us put it into Condor’s pocket. A little more padding makes no difference to him.”
“When I was younger it used to be my privilege and pleasure to pick up these little odds and ends for my wife,” said Lord Condor, smiling good-naturedly, while his wife stuffed the scarf into his pocket. “But alas! my figure no longer permits.”
“I remember my engagement was a most trying time,” said Lady Condor. “My dear mother impressed on me that if Condor once realized the irritation my untidiness and habit of dropping my things about would cause him in our married life, he would break it off. What, Vi? Oh, damn the thing!”
Violet Riversley, holding a gold bag which had mysteriously dropped from somewhere, went off into a helpless fit of laughter.
“Don’t laugh, my dear. It is nothing to laugh at. I do hope Mansfield did not hear! One catches these bad habits, but I have not taken to swearing. I do not approve of it for women—or of smoking—do I, Condor? But that wretched bag has spoilt my whole afternoon; that is the fifth time it has been handed to me. I could not really enjoy Condor’s speech. Quite admirable—only no one could possibly do the things he recommended. But where was I? Oh yes—the bag—you see, I bought it at Asprey’s! You know, in Bond Street—yes. There was a whole window full of them. How should it strike one that they were luxuries, and that the scarcity of gold was so great? One has got quite used to the paper money by now. And somehow it never seems so valuable as real sovereigns. I am sure our extravagance is due to this. It’s nearly as bad as paying by cheque. But where was I? Oh, my bag! You see, we all went to this meeting to patronize National Economy. Most necessary, Condor says, and we must all do our best. But it really would have been better, I think, if we had not all gone in our cars and taken our gold bags. Everyone seemed to have a gold bag—and aigrettes on their heads. I never wear them myself. The poor birds—I couldn’t. But I know they cost pounds and pounds, and no one could call them necessities. Or the gold bags of course, if gold is so very scarce. Ought we to send them to be melted down? I will gladly send mine into the lower regions. Just as we were entering it plopped down on the step, and you can imagine the noise it made, and a quite poor-looking man picked it up and gave it back to me. He had on one of the dreadful-looking suits, you know, that they gave our poor dear men when they were demobilized. He was most pleasant, but what must he have thought? And I could not explain to him about the shop window-full because Condor was waiting for me. And then, on the platform, just as Condor was making one of his most telling points, it clanged down off my lap, and of course it fell just where there was no carpet. I tried to kick it under the chair, but little Mr. Peckham—you know him, dear—would jump up and make quite a show of it, handing it back to me. No, don’t give it me again. Put it into Condor’s pocket. But he has gone! To see the pigs with Roger? Isn’t it wonderful the attraction pigs have for men of a certain age! My dear father was just the same, and he called his pigs after us—or was it us after the pigs?—I don’t quite remember which. And where is your mother? Oh, I see—playing croquet with Mrs. Ingram. My dear, did you ever see such a hat! Like a plate of petrified porridge, isn’t it? No, tell your mother not to come. I will just wave my hand. Go and tell her not to stop her game, dear Violet. And here is Arthur! He has something important to tell me—I know by his walk. Now let us get comfortable first, and where we shall not be disturbed. Yes. Those two chairs over there.”
“I do want a little chat if possible, Marion,” said Mr. Fothersley. He retrieved a scarf which had floated suddenly across his path, with the skill born of long practice. “Yes, I will keep it in case you feel cold.”