Barney had become red. “Roger’s been teasing you, darling. Nobody believes in freedom more. Don’t let him take you in. He’s an awful old humbug with his Socratic method. He upsets you before you know where you are. He’s always been like that.”
“Yes; hasn’t he,” Mrs. Aldesey murmured.
“But he hasn’t upset me at all,” said Adrienne. “I grant that he was trying to, that he was doing his very best to give me a tumble; but I quite see through him and he doesn’t conceal himself from me in the very least. He doesn’t really believe in freedom, however much he may have taken you in, Barney; he’d think it wholesome, of course, that you should believe in it. That’s his idea, you see; to give people what he thinks wholesome; to choose for them. It’s the lack of faith all through. But the reason is that he’s lonely; dreadfully lonely, and because of that he’s grown to be, as he says, snappy and snuffy; so that we must borrow a page from his book and find what is wholesome for him. I know all the symptoms so well. I’ve had friends just like that. It’s a starved heart and having nobody to be fonder of than anyone else; no one near at all. He must be happily married as soon as possible. A happy marriage is the best gift of life, isn’t it, Mrs. Aldesey? If we haven’t known that we haven’t known our best selves, have we?”
“It may be; we mayn’t have,” said Mrs. Aldesey, cheerfully; but she was not liking it. “I can’t say. Am I to have a hand in choosing his bride? I know his tastes, I think. We’re quite old friends, you see.”
“No one who doesn’t believe in freedom for other people may help to choose her,” said Adrienne, with a curious blitheness. “That’s why he mayn’t choose her himself. We must go quite away to find her; away from ceilings and conventions and out into the sunlight. I don’t believe happiness is found under ceilings. And it’s what we all need more than anything else. Even tobacco and chamber-music don’t make you a bit happy, do they, Mr. Oldmeadow? and if one isn’t happy one can’t know anything about anything. Not really.”
“Alas!” sighed Mrs. Aldesey, keeping up her end, but not very successfully, while Barney fixed his eyes upon his wife. “And I thought I’d found it this evening, under this ceiling. Well, I shall cherish my illusion, since you tell me it’s only that, and thank you for it, Mrs. Barney. The Lumleys are going to give me a lift and I see that their car has been announced.”
“Stay on a bit, Roger,” Barney murmured, as the Lumleys approached. “I’ve seen nothing of you for ages.”
Adrienne rose to greet her parting guests.
“Darling Adrienne, good-night. It’s been perfectly delightful, your little party,” said Lady Lumley, who was large, light and easily pleased; an English equivalent of the lady from California, but without the sprightliness. “Your dear young Mr. Prentiss is a treasure. He’s been telling me about Sicilian temples. We must get there one day. Mrs. Prentiss says they will come to us for a week-end before they go. How extraordinarily interesting she is. Don’t forget that you are coming on the fifteenth.”
“I shall get up a headache, first thing!” Lord Lumley stated in a loud, jocular whisper, reverting to a favourite jest on Adrienne’s powers. “That’s the thing to go in for, eh? I won’t let Charlie cut me out this time. Not a night’s sleep till you come!”