CHAPTER XII
Anyone entering the Prices’ house on any Wednesday afternoon between 3.30 and 6 would hear from the staircase and even from the front door a chatter and clatter of cups and conversation and shrill laughter. In a short time the drawing-room bell would ring, a door would open upstairs and louder sounds of talking would burst out; then one of the Price girls would be heard to say, “Well, good-bye, then. Tuesday week,” or something like that, and a female form, expensively dressed, the remains of a farewell smile still on the face, would pass down the stairs and probably meet the maidservant on her way up with another batch from the front door. On some Wednesdays as many as thirty women called on Mrs. Price. Susie, who “believed in keeping up with people,” as she said, was there one day soon after Evangeline had left her. The Prices made much of her because of her triple connection with Millport, London and the county, and the girls described Cyril as “perfectly killing!” They had a great respect for him as soon as they saw that he had none whatever for them.
Perhaps it was some survival of the days when slavery was upheld from the pulpit by a man of God in their city that gave one or two of the older Millport families their exaggerated esteem for an impressive manner. They knew by ancestral experience that the top dog is the thing to be. They sat as near the top as they could and gazed with admiration at those who pressed on them from above. No one who understood Cyril could suspect him of being impressive, but he took no interest in the Prices, so their natural inference from his behaviour was that he must be used to something better than themselves, and that would be something very good indeed. The train of thought runs easily to the conclusion that Cyril was worth cultivating. Half the things he said would have convicted him of “giving himself airs” had he been a poor man and polite to the Prices, but, “Have you heard what the General said?” they repeated to one another after every occasion when they met him. Even such trifles as “what he said when Father offered him a cigar at the Club,” were reported, and the answer, “No, thanks; have you seen the paper?” produced an avalanche of delight.
“But what did he mean, dear?” asked poor Mrs. Price. “I don’t see anything particular in that.”
“Oh, mother! Of course he wanted to get rid of Dad; can’t you see? ‘Have you seen the paper!’ I think it is delicious. You can just imagine him handing it over and sloping off.”
On this afternoon Mrs. Price sat down beside Susie and began to make herself agreeable. “Your daughter has left you now, hasn’t she, Mrs. —er?” she began. “I hope Drage suits her. My son was there for a time and didn’t care for it.”
“It is not a beautiful place, of course,” Susie replied, “but to see those boys back from the war enjoying themselves so much is as good as any scenery. Your son told Evangeline of the unfortunate accident that prevented him from going out. She was so sorry for him.”
“Well, I wasn’t sorry,” said Mrs. Price. “I think the whole arrangement of conscription was scandalous. They took people who were absolutely necessary for carrying on what business there was, and sent them out. Joseph has a very weak throat and would have been absolutely useless, as I told him; though he had made up his mind to go. However, it is all over now and I hope to goodness they will get all the labour troubles settled soon. The price of everything is dreadful. I don’t know how we are to go on living.”
“By-the-bye,” asked Susie, “has anything been settled about your taking Aldwych?”
An unpleasant recollection rose in Mrs. Price’s mind. Higgins had reported to one of the maids after the party “how disrespectful that military gentleman that came had spoke” about wealth in general and the Prices in particular. He had retailed Cyril’s remarks about getting the smell of money out of the house and the likelihood of the Prices demoralising the Aldwych tenants like the plague. Higgins had told the infamous tale three times at supper, and Hopkins, Mrs. Price’s maid, had repeated it to her mistress. The young Prices had heard of it, but paid little attention. It only stung them to further admiration of Cyril, for since the Profiteering Act had been passed and half the jokes in Punch were about people who looked rather like Dad and Mother they had begun to feel that the gilt on their gingerbread had better be covered a little to prevent rubbing. The parents, however, did not like it.