Was it possible, she asked herself, that he had built his policy on the theory that Dilling would be self-defeated by the deficiencies which Lady Denby so persistently deplored? Did he rely on the Capital’s beguilement by a Beau Brummell, and its rejection of a pilot who placed the substance before the shadow? Sullivan was astute enough to aim at Dilling’s most vulnerable spot, realising that it was scarcely probable for him to be overthrown by a political misadventure.
A motive was not far to seek . . . Marjorie! Did Mr. Sullivan wish to cripple his antagonist beyond the chance of giving battle, and then himself reap the spoils? He was, she decided, quite capable of such infamy.
She required no complaints from Lady Denby to remind her of the Dillings’ social short-comings. Times without number, she had tried to convince Marjorie that in Ottawa—in any Capital, probably—Success demands that aspect of good breeding which may be described as a superficial adaptability to others. But neither Marjorie nor her husband would conform to the standards set by other people, when those standards were opposed to the principles on which they had been nurtured.
“It’s deceit,” said Marjorie.
“It’s duplicity,” said Raymond.
Success was not worth attaining unless it accompanied a cleanly heart.
In such small matters did they transgress against the rules of that great governing body called Society. In such stupid little things! It was immaterial to Dilling whether he appeared in black shoes or tan. Marjorie developed a perfect genius for wearing the wrong clothes. At a luncheon given to some distinguished visitor, she could see no reason for “dressing up”, while for an affair confined to the humbler members of the Sunday School, she would wear the best that her wardrobe afforded. Similarly, in entertaining, she would provide the simplest repast for a guest of high degree, and spread before the officers of the Sweet Arbutus Club, a dinner that was elaborate by comparison.
“People like Lady Sommerville and the Countess of Lynwood,” she argued, “have so much better than I could give them, they wouldn’t even notice any effort I could make. But with the others . . . it means something to them to be entertained in a Minister’s house. When I have them here, I am giving somebody real pleasure. Don’t you think it is worth a good deal of trouble?”
The caparisons of greatness would always remain for them non-essentials. All externalities were vain pomp and inglorious display. The things that counted lay within—within the heart and mind and soul of man, and these they pursued and cultivated ardently.
Azalea began to fear that without a drastic shifting of ideals, life would soon become quite insupportable for them in their Land of Afternoon.