I stared at him, frowning.
“If I had a husband I should like him to know. I should be furious if I made a special effort, and he didn’t even notice that I had anything new.”
He smiled with a forbearing air.
“Surely not! I think better of you, Miss Wastneys. Dress is altogether unimportant.”
“Not to me. Not to your wife. There are some women to whom it is the greatest temptation in life.”
He looked outraged, disgusted, and changed the subject with a resolute air, but I was glad that I had spoken. A husband can be too unworldly, and lost in the clouds. It would be the best thing in the world for Delphine if he did notice, and that in more ways than one!
In the afternoon Charmion and I called at the vicarage to congratulate Delphine, and found her distinctly the worse for wear. Pale, heavy-eyed, and inclined to snap, a very different creature from the radiant butterfly of three days ago. She was glad to see me, however, I was someone to snap at, which was what she wanted most at the moment, and she worked off quite a lot of steam, hectoring me about things I might have done better, or not done at all, and impressing on me for future occasions that I should be less independent, and take more advice. She likewise informed us, quite incidentally and “by the way,” that Mrs Ross had disliked my hat and Mrs Bruce had asked if Charmion were anaemic—such a colourless skin!—and Mrs Someone Else thought it so “queer” that we should live together! Altogether she behaved like a spoiled, ill-tempered child, but she looked so young and worried and pretty through it all, that on the whole I felt more sorry for her than myself. As for Charmion, she smiled, with an air of listening from an illimitable distance, which I can quite understand has an exasperating effect on people who do not understand and care. It exasperated Delphine now. I saw the blue eyes flash, and the pink lips set, with a peevish desire to “hit back!”
“Mrs Bruce said her family know the Fane family quite well. They come from the same county. She was telling them about you, but, of course, not knowing your husband’s Christian name made it difficult. She thought it so queer to have your own Christian name printed on your cards—”
“Did she?” said Charmion blandly.
“It is an American custom,” I put in hastily. “I should do the same if I had such a fascinating name.”