“How very droll!” she said. “I can hardly imagine it. Mrs. Boucher in her bath-chair must have been an unwieldy partner, Georgie. Are you not very stiff this morning?”
“No, Mrs. Boucher didn’t dance,” said Georgie with fearful literalness. “She looked on and wound up the gramophone. Just we four danced: Olga and the Princess and Colonel Boucher and I.”
Lucia made a great effort with herself. She knew quite well that Georgie knew how she would have given anything to have brought her party across, and it only made matters worse (if they could be made worse) to be sarcastic about it and pretend to find it all ridiculous. Olga certainly had left her and her friends alone, just as she herself had left Riseholme alone, in this matter of her week-end party. Yet it was unwise to be withering about Colonel Boucher’s dancing. She had made it clear that she was busy with her party, and but for this unfortunate accident of Olga’s coming down, nothing else could have happened in Riseholme that day except by her dispensing. It was unfortunate, but it must be lived down, and if dear old Riseholme was offended with her, Riseholme must be propitiated.
“Great fun it must have been,” she said. “How delicious a little impromptu thing like that is! And singing too: well, you had a nice evening, Georgie. And now let us make some delicious little plan for to-day. Pop in presently and have ’ickle music and bit of lunch.”
“I’m afraid I’ve just promised to lunch with Daisy,” said he.
This again was rather ominous, for there could be no doubt that Daisy, having said she was engaged, had popped in here to effect an engagement.
“How gay!” said Lucia. “Come and dine this evening then! Really, Georgie, you are busier than any of us in London.”
“Too tarsome,” said Georgie, “because Olga’s coming in here.”
“And the Princess?” asked Lucia before she could stop herself.
“No, she went away this morning,” said Georgie.