Was this an expression of sisterly affection which dreaded the hour of separation? Cassandra could not decide, and it was too late to question further, for Dane had seen her and was hurrying forward to offer apologies for his non-appearance at lunch. Teresa followed and stood by his side, supplementing his explanations with a proprietary air, and Mrs Mallison beamed proudly in the background. Quite a family party! She wished certain of the Chumley matrons who were apt to be patronising in their manner, could arrive at this moment, and see her girls the centre of so distinguished a group.
Cassandra was conscious of an intense irritation.
Chapter Sixteen.
A Willing Captive.
The bulb party pursued its inevitable course. The guests arrived in little groups of three and and four, entered the house at the front and made their painful way along highly polished corridors, to a door leading on to the terrace, where Cassandra stood waiting to receive them. Here it was the orthodox thing to intercept greetings with ejaculatory exclamations of admiration at the beauty of the floral display, which being done the visitors descended the stone steps, and roamed to and fro, picking up other friends en route. At times the pitiful sun shone out, and then the Chumley matrons unloosed the feather boas which were an inevitable accessory of their toilettes, and confided in one another that it was “quite balmy,” and anon it retired behind a cloud, and gave place to an east wind which came whirling round unexpected comers, sharp and keen as a knife. Then the matrons thought wistfully of the bountifully spread tea tables which they had discerned through the windows on the terrace, and consulted watch bracelets to see how soon they could hope for relief. There were at least ten women present to every man, and entirely feminine groups were to be seen wandering round from one garden to another, for an hour on end, growing ever chillier and more pinched, yet laboriously keeping up an air of enjoyment.
Grizel Beverley was the latest guest to appear, having made a compromise with the weather by donning a white dress with a bodice so diaphanous that Martin had informed her he could see her “thoughts,” the which she had covered with a sable coat. When the sun shone, she threw open the coat, and looked a very incarnation of spring, so white and lacy and daintily exquisite, that coloured costumes became prosaic in contrast. When the wind blew, she turned up her big storm collar and peered out between the upstanding points, so snug and smooth and unwrinkled that the pinched faces above the feather boas appeared doubly wan and miserable. Feminine Chumley felt it a little hard to be beaten in both events, but bore it the more complacently since it was the bride who was the victor. There was no doubt about it,—Grizel was a success, and already, after but a few months’ residence, Chumley was at her feet. She was sometimes “shocking,” of course, but as she herself had predicted, the sober townspeople took a fearsome pleasure in her extravagances. They were as a dash of cayenne, which lent a flavour to the fare of daily life. Moreover, though welcomed with open arms by the county, Grizel was on most intimate terms with the town. Invitations to afternoon festivities received unfailing acceptance; she made extensive toilettes in honour of the occasion, ate appreciative teas, and groaned aloud when she failed to win a prize of the value of half a crown. Anything more “pleasant” could not be imagined!
In the more serious rôle of parish work also, Grizel had made her début. The Mothers’ Meeting was still waiting time, but one afternoon she had slipped a little gold thimble and a pair of scissors with mother-of-pearl handles into a vanity-bag, and taken her way to a Dorcas meeting at the Vicarage, agreeably expectant of adding a new experience to life.
The Dorcas meeting was held in the dining-room of the Vicarage, on the long table of which lay formidable piles of calico and flannel. At a second small table the churchwarden’s wife turned the handle of a particularly unmelodious sewing machine. Over a dozen women sat round the room still wearing their bonnets, but denuded of coats and mantles, and balancing upon their knees some future garment for the poor, at which they sewed with long, rhythmic stitches. They were assembled together in a holy cause, and under the more or less holy roof of the Vicar himself, yet the observant eye could have discerned as much hidden worldliness in that room as in the most fashionable assembly. At a Dorcas meeting everyone was welcome, the wives of tradesmen as well as representatives of the professional and learned classes. It was difficult to keep up the numbers, and since social engagements were less frequent in the former class, its members were able to give more regular attendance. The grocer’s wife was a cutter-out with whom no other member could compete. She stood at one end of the long table with a length of calico spread out before her, and a pair of gigantic scissors in her hand. As she cut still further and further into the material, she leant forward over the table, and automatically her left leg swung out,—a stout, merino-stockinged leg, terminating in a laced leather boot. All the members came to her for instructions, and all of them were agreeable and friendly in manner, but when the cutting process was over, she retired to a corner of the room where were congregated a few of her own friends. The two classes never mixed.