Even for Ethel this was rather cynical. She was well aware that she had greatly overrated the public’s power of disappointment; at the same time it was clearly a case for strong action. “You’ll go to the Floral Hall, Mother. And I’ll come with you.”
“You, dear?” Gerty spoke in a melodramatic whisper.
“I shall sit just behind her ... in the second row. We can’t have people talking. And I shall put on my fur coat.”
It was a blow on the sconce for the specious Gertrude, but she took it with disarming meekness, smiling, as Ethel mentally described her, “like a prize Angora” down her long, straight, rather adventurous nose.
“It’s your duty, Mother.” Mrs. Doctor proceeded to administer a mental and moral shaking. “The women of the city look up to you, they expect you to set an example. Miss Heber-Knollys feels that very strongly. And Horace, who is a far cleverer man than Doctor Tremlett, says all you have to do is to keep yourself up.”
“In other words, Maria,” cooed Gerty in the voice of the dove, “you must show Spirit. And that is what I always tell you.”
There were times when Gerty was amazing. Her audacity took away the breath even of Ethel. As for Maria she felt a little giddy. She was fascinated.
The She serpent.