Uncomfortable recollections chased one another through Mrs. Haddington's memory. She said angrily: "That gaol-bird! Designing little bitch! I'll soon settle her hash! But it's rubbish, my pet! No man would look at her while you were present! I've no doubt she's trying her best to catch him, but I'll soon put a stop to that!"
"Oh, hell, who cares?" said Cynthia, relaxing into her enormous, lace-edged pillows. "I don't want him! I'd sooner have Lance! Besides, you won't stop it. She had dinner with him last night, at Armand's. Moira was there, and she saw them."
"Did she?" said Mrs. Haddington. Her thin lips were close-gripped for a moment. She glanced down at her daughter, hesitated, and then said lightly: "Never mind that! I want you to get up now, my pet, and come down to my boudoir for Miss Spennymoor to fit that dress on you."
This mildly-worded request precipitated a minor crisis. Cynthia, whose fancy had prompted her to spray herself idly with scent from a cut-glass flagon, was goaded into hurling this expensive toy into the tiled grate, where it was shattered. However, this ebullition of temper had the happy effect of inducing her to get up, because not even she could remain in an atmosphere so redolent with the perfumes of Araby as to make her head swim. In a mood of sulky tearfulness, she presently descended the stairs to the boudoir, where Miss Spennymoor was patiently awaiting her.
She allowed herself to be divested of her frock, and to have her mother's old Good Black Wool cast over her head, merely saying fretfully: "I look hellish in black, and it doesn't fit me anywhere!"
"It's only for the funeral, my pet!" Mrs. Haddington soothed her. Just stand still and let Miss Spennymoor see what has to be done! Darling child, don't stand on one leg!"
"Oh, Mummy, I haven't got to go to the funeral, have I?" wailed Cynthia. "I simply won't! It's too dreary for words, and I know Dan would say I needn't! 0 God, I feel too septic in this frightful thing! Take it off me!"
Miss Spennymoor, clucking amiably, said: "Oh, dear, fancy you saying that, Miss Haddington, when I was only thinking how sweet you look! They do say a blonde always looks her best in black, don't they? Of course, it'll be very different when I've taken it in the wee-est bit. Distinguished, I should call it! Let me just slip a few pins in, and you'll be surprised! Now, I'm quite partial to a funeral myself. Well, it takes all sorts to make a world, doesn't it? Weddings, now! I don't know how it is, but if ever I want a good cry I go and watch one of those grand weddings they have at St Margaret's! But funerals are different! - Oh, quite different they are! Of course, it makes anyone think, when they lower the coffin into the ground, but you want to look on the bright side, and ten to one it was a happy release, like it was for my poor mother, when Dad died, and once the coffin's out of the house it's surprising the difference it makes. More like a beanfeast than a funeral, my Dad's funeral was. Such a jollification as we had! No one wouldn't have guessed Mother had been up half the night, boiling the ham! Not, of course, that it's the same here, you not having the coffin in the house, but I'm sure the gentleman will have a lovely funeral, all the same!"
Ignoring this well-meant consolation, Cynthia said: "Mummy, if Lance saw me in this thing, he'd have a fit!"
"Dear child, if I were you I wouldn't be guided by that young man's ideas of what is proper!"