Certainly, Hebe did not find the companionship of Augustus Pratt inspiring, but just now it pleased her to pretend the contrary and bear him off beneath the battery of angry eyes the women trained upon her.
As they moved towards the door and his rather moist hand caressed her unclad elbow, she said in a loud voice,
“None but the immediate relatives of the deceased followed the body to the grave . . . I don’t wonder people have wakes, do you, dear Mr. Pratt? Solemnity in massive doses is so depressing. Have you tried the Argentine? It’s enchanting! You take three steps to the right . . .”
A brief silence followed their exit. The women glowered at Mrs. Pratt and Marjorie Dilling as though they were personally responsible for their husbands’ defection. The men fidgetted and offered one another fresh cigarettes.
Lady Denby drew her lips into a thin line and remarked to Madame Valleau who was choking back a yawn,
“I do wish that woman would wear some clothes! It simply infuriates me to see her going abroad like that!”
The Frenchwoman smiled.
“Perhaps that is why she does it.”
“I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t see anything funny,” Lady Denby retorted.
“One observes so much! For myself, I think it very funny you do not realise that instead of dressing to please men, as most people think, women dress to annoy other women. Consider yourself, par example and this gay Madame Barrington! There, you see?”