“I think she meant that her glory was Edwardian, that her real life was then. I don’t think she chooses to realize how immensely attractive she is now in the Georgian days.”
“Well, I really can’t understand such a view. I shall—when I meet her—I shall really venture to remonstrate with her about it. And besides, apart from the personal question, one owes something to one’s contemporaries. Upon my word, I begin to understand at last why certain very charming women haven’t a good word to say for Adela Sellingworth.”
“You mean the ‘old guard,’ I suppose?”
“I don’t wish to mention any names. It is always a mistake to mention names. One cannot guard against it too carefully. But having done what she did ten years ago dear Adela Sellingworth should really—but it is not for me to criticise her. Only there is nothing people—women—are more sensitive about than the question of age. No one likes to be laid on the shelf. Adela Sellingworth has chosen to—well—one might feel such a very drastic step to be quite uncalled for—quite uncalled for. And so—but you haven’t told me! Did Adela Sellingworth allow herself to be persuaded to go to the Cafe Royal?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Thank God for that!” said the world’s governess, looking immensely relieved.
“I escorted her to Berkeley Square.”
“Good! good!”
“But we walked to the door of the Cafe Royal.”
“What—down Shaftesbury Avenue?”