“Aunt Stella says speaking German nowadays is as good a thrill as the invention of a new sin, and far superior to secret drinking or smoking or swearing.... You do it in a dark room, under your breath, looking over your shoulder.”
“And in public you carefully mispronounce German towns and Generals, in case it should be suspected that you pronounce them not wisely but too well. Father’s getting quite a dab at throwing off his little jokes about the Kayzer. Comic birthplaces are the fashion as well; two of the Ladenbach girls, when the question crops up, have been instructed to say they were born in a wagon-lit; and the boy Julius, on the steps of the Venezuelan Consulate....”
“Looks as if Frau Ladenbach had dropped ’em about rather carelessly,” chuckled Richard. He was glad he had come this afternoon. It was years since he had been at all intimate with David Rothenburg, and the impulse to seek him out had been the result of a strange weariness of all his other friends who could not be taken for granted as understanding, without elaborate foreword and explanation, all these present chaotic conditions of Germans and semi-Germans....
“Come out,” David suggested. “It’s stuffy in here, and I want to take a parcel of books round to—to some people quite near.... You can help me carry ’em.”
In the hall Nell and Samson Phillips were talking in an earnest whisper. Nell wore heavy golden furs flopping over her thick brown outdoor coat, and a wide-brimmed golden hat. She was a very decorative figure in all shades from sallow through ivory to rich umber; her thick skin, the cream-dusky colour of honeysuckle, could certainly never flush to any shade of pink; only when she was moved, her eyes glowed deeper. They glowed now, at the sight of the two boys descending the staircase.
“Oh, Richard, where is Deb this afternoon? She said something about coming here?”
“Did she? I believe she’s gone to that Russian singing woman, La llorraine. Anyway, you’re going out, aren’t you?”
“Yes. Oh yes. Antonia Verity has invited me to a picture-show. I’m waiting for her to call for me. But I thought if Deb came ... but it doesn’t matter——” She glanced swiftly corner-wise at Samson Phillips, and her look said plainly “I’m sorry.”... Then Mr Redbury came out of the smoking-room into the hall.
“Vell, yong beople”—he beamed approval on Nell and Phillips—“I like to see yong beople enchoying zemselves togezzer. How is your fazer, Marcus? Vun doesn’t see much of him lately.” But he quickly changed the subject, for Ferdinand Marcus was hardly more English than Mr Otto Redbury himself, and therefore at present socially useless as an asset. “Ven are you going to put on ghagi, hein? You’re ze same age as David, aren’t you?”
“Nearly,” said Richard.