An hour later we drove to Fuller’s and indulged in tea. It was curiously enough the sight of one of the well-known angel cakes which recalled Delphine Merrivale to my memory, for she had shown a child-like appreciation of these dainties when they had appeared on our tea-table at “Pastimes”. Poor little Delphine! I felt a pang of compunction when I remembered what store she had set on my friendship, and how little, how very little, I had concerned myself about her during the last months! With due caution I proceeded to seek information.
“I hope the tenants at ‘Pastimes’ are well, and the Vicar and his wife—that pretty little ‘Delphine’ of whom Evelyn is so fond?”
“The Vicar is not well; been ailing all autumn, but Delphine is going strong. Quite launched out this autumn. Become quite a leader of fashion in our small world.”
I felt another pang—of foreboding this time, and said sharply:—
“How very unsuitable! Are you speaking figuratively, Mr Maplestone? Surely a clergyman’s wife—”
“Clergymen’s wives differ, Miss Harding, as greatly as the wives of other members of society. They are not turned out by a machine, and this particular one is very young, and not particularly wise.”
“Apparently not. In what way has she ‘launched out’?”
“Oh–oh—” he vaguely waved his hands.
“Smart clothes, you know. Lots of ’em. Dinner parties. Luncheons. Less parish work, and more amusement. Always trotting over to the ‘Moat’.”
The present owners of the “Moat” were rich City people who gave lavish entertainments, and obviously chose their friends with a consideration of how much amusement could be counted upon in return. Pretty, gay Delphine was a valuable addition to a house-party, and would no doubt receive as many invitations as she cared to accept; but the influence could not be good. Continual association with smart, worldly people would of a certainty heighten her discontent, and lure her into extravagance.