Claudia was not so alarmed as she well might have been had she known the symptoms of nerve breakdown.
“Perhaps he took the case up in a hurry, sometimes he has to do that, you know.”
“No, he didn’t, because the fellow with me told me that he knew he had been secured for the case a long time ago. I heard someone say he was going to pieces.”
“He wants a holiday.... Mother will think I am never coming. Go in and talk to Fay.”
He saw her into her car, and a few minutes later Claudia found herself alighting on the red carpet outside her old home. The sounds of a violin played by a master hand reached her as she entered. The Rivingtons were just going, Mrs. Rivington very shrill and chatty, and the General rather tottery and deaf.
“I say,” said Mrs. Rivington, with a glint of malice in her eye, “is it true your friend Frank Hamilton is going to marry Mrs. Jacobs? Good thing for him, I should say. She’s just rolling in money, almost indecent, and anyone can see she’s madly in love with him. It’s all very well to talk art,” sneeringly, “but it usually spells money, doesn’t it? Artists are just like the rest of us, only they pretend a bit more. He’s always with her, so I suppose the engagement will be announced soon.”
Claudia attributed the remarks to ill-nature on Mrs. Rivington’s part, for her chief occupation in life was planting arrows as often as she could in the weak spots in her friends’ armour. Claudia could afford to smile serenely in reply. Did she not know whom Frank loved? A woman rather enjoys a clandestine love-affair, and Claudia hugged to herself her closer knowledge of Frank’s inner life. She knew she was the core of it.
“Mr. Hamilton’s in there now, talking to the Duchess of Roxford,” continued Mrs. Rivington. “Ridiculous how artists are run after, isn’t it? I don’t suppose he was anyone in particular. Artists never are. Some people find that interesting, but I must say, personally, I prefer good breeding. So unmistakable. Good-bye. It’s too dreadful about The Girlie Girl, but I was right, after all, wasn’t I?”
Claudia stood quietly in the doorway until the violinist, the great Ysaye, had finished playing. There were many well-known people present, great names in the social and artistic firmaments, for Circe had always held a little court all her life, and she had cleverly managed to pursue her uneven way without offending any of the powerful social leaders, who, though they always remembered her trespasses against her, generously spoke with more or less indulgence of them. She was hated by a few, like Lady Currey, but they did not count for very much. Circe had never been actively malicious, and she had always been too immersed in her own affairs to find time to be inquisitive about other people’s, hence she had acquired a certain reputation for fair dealing and generosity of character not altogether deserved. Now she very seldom entertained, but when she did so, she did it superlatively well, and many artists she had encouraged in their young and aspiring days were glad to do her honour.