The party from London, a gay one, was chiefly composed of Sir Beaufort’s friends and some of the Lingard connections who had “handles” to their names. One day we patronised a point-to-point steeplechase, the next a race meeting; at night, there was bridge and dancing. My aunt had brought me some evening dresses, my hair was arranged in the latest fashion, and I no longer looked like Beke—nor felt like it either! I enjoyed myself vastly, and was privately informed by Dora that her mother was pleased with me, and that I had been quite presentable. I really believe that at this time my aunt almost liked me. I was ready to help her by writing menus and notes, giving a last little touch to the table decorations, and “taking on” the bores. Moreover, I was in considerable demand as a partner for bridge and dancing, and possibly my chaperon had agreeable visions of getting me speedily off her hands.
Early in April the wedding took place, after a week of the most strenuous preparations. The house was packed to the very roof, and I confess that I was not sorry when the whole affair was over, the bride had said farewell, the last handful of rice had been thrown, and the departing motor become a mere speck on the avenue.
Bev, who had come down expressly for the day, renewed his attentions to me. He informed me that he found me enormously improved in appearance. Unfortunately, I was not able to repay the compliment in kind. Bev had none of the good looks of the Lingard family. To me he always bore a ridiculous resemblance to a young gander. A very long thin neck, a very long beaky nose, a small flat head and no chin, supported this impression.
We had settled into the usual routine, and my aunt was beginning to talk of a couple of weeks in London and a June Drawing Room, when, to the consternation of the whole family, Beverley reappeared, having been sent down from Oxford. Apparently his scrapes had reached a climax. There were debts, too! Uncle’s face looked grim and glum, and even my aunt, always so indulgent, was obviously displeased with her darling.
Suppressed by his parents and sister, Bev turned for consolation to me. He followed me about like a shadow and was absolutely impervious to snubs. If I went out riding he became my escort; if I escaped for a walk, or into the old schoolroom, he tracked me down and joined me. My angry protests were of no avail, and I could not help feeling that my aunt was really unlucky. Here was an idle ne’er-do-well loafing about at home. Here was also the niece, whose attractions she feared—and the pair were continually together!
For my part I sought refuge with Clara or Mrs. Paget-Taylor, but what was to be done upon wet days? On one of these Bev joined me in the old schoolroom, where I had ensconced myself before a good fire with a new novel in my hand. I gave him a very tepid reception, as he drew up a chair, put his long feet on the chimneypiece, and lit a cigarette.
“I have been hunting for you everywhere,” he announced.
“Yes,” I replied, “like the little boy in the fable, who wanted somebody to play with; but I’m not going to play,” I added sharply, “and if you worry I shall go and sit up in my own room.” And I returned to my book.
“By Jove, Eva, you are changed!” he exclaimed, “such a grand, stand-off young lady. Do you remember how in this very room we used to roast chestnuts and make horrible toffee? We were great pals then, why can’t we be pals now?”
“Everything is different,” I replied without raising my eyes.