All through the summer it had been "Mrs. Sawyer this" and "Mrs. Sawyer that". Dear Consuelo was so charming, her parties were so delightful. If one did not know her, one must take steps to become acquainted. And so forth and so on... In the autumn there was what I can only describe as a guilty silence; it was in questionable taste to mention her; she dropped out completely, and one almost begged one's man not to bring the car home by way of South Audley Street. Every one seemed to fear that she might present herself any day at the door and claim to be taken in and supported by those who had only accepted her too lavish hospitality because they were "friends" and a little sorry for her lonely state. Then came the great surprise...
It can only have been a surprise to people who had jumped to conclusions without troubling to collect a shred of evidence... I purposely kept my mind a blank... There were rumours; and then one read the announcement—that she was marrying this Major Blanstock. I believe she is a great heiress, I believe her husband did drink himself to death. And I still believe, as I always believed, that she is a thoroughly nice, very unhappy woman...
She would never have done for Will... As you would be the first to agree, if you had seen her. Oh, I can't describe my relief that nothing came of that. The difference of blood and breeding—Roman Catholic and Anglican, Latin and Anglo-Saxon...
But I feel that the poor woman would have been given a fairer chance if her own people at the Legation had been able to tell us something about her. If they can't do that, I really don't know what they are there for or why one takes the trouble to invite them to one's house...
VII
LADY ANN SPENWORTH DEPLORES PROPOSALS BY WOMEN
Lady Ann (to a friend of proved discretion): Oh, but I fully believe they do it! There were rumours even before the war. To my mind, the idea that any girl should ask a man to marry her is so repugnant that I can hardly think of it calmly. All so-called "Leap-Year jokes" seem to me to be in execrable taste... Since the war, with these millions of superfluous women, I am told that it has become quite common. You have always had the cranks who claimed that a woman had as much right to choose a husband as a husband to choose a wife; and now girls like my niece Phyllida say that, with the general upset of war, a little money frightens a man away and, if you want him to see that a difference of means is not a real obstacle, you have to take the first step. I'm inclined to say: "Rubbish, child, rubbish"—and again "Rubbish". Since when have young men developed these fantastic scruples? And does any girl think that the only way of securing a man is to propose to him? I should have imagined... But I was brought up in a different school...
Phyllida, of course, was struggling with her obsession. I do feel Brackenbury incurred a responsibility in not sending her right away. Ever since Colonel Butler disappeared, she has alternately fumed and fretted. Now she is becoming hard and cynical; if she were ten years older, you would call her "soured". Ridiculous at one-and-twenty, or whatever she is... And she became no more normal after giving up hope of him. Oh, yes, I'm thankful to say that I think all that is quite over, though we must expect to see an occasional relapse; hence the discussion. She said that, if she met her Hilary or ever found out where he was, she would throw herself into his arms and ask him to marry her. And sotto voce the customary hateful suggestion that I had taunted him with wanting to marry her for her money and so driven him away in order to clear the ground for my Will. It is always on the tip of my tongue to say that she seems very certain of my boy. But it is the modern fashion for a girl to think she has only to drop the handkerchief... Brackenbury patted her hand (if he had slapped her it would have been more to the point), I went on with my work. She wanted the stimulus of a little opposition, and that was just what I refused to give her. Then she began talking in general terms about the difficulty that a girl has in finding a husband nowadays: fewer men than ever, all of them uprooted by the war and uncertain of their future, widows marrying again, the older women remaining young so much longer. I felt that, to some extent, it was all true, but I was surprised to hear such truths on Phyllida's lips if she still wanted me to think she was faithful to Colonel Butler's memory...
Culroyd's marriage made a difference, of course. He was a devoted brother, according to his lights; and I think she is missing him greatly. And one wedding, like one funeral, leads to another. You have seen it again and again! The trousseau, the presents, the letters, the general excitement, the very contagion of two young lovers... All this coming at a time when she seemed deliberately to be making herself as unhappy as possible... I knew there would be a strong reaction, I was only afraid that she might throw herself at my Will's head and that he might be unable to say "no". I kept him away from the Hall as much as I could. If he really wanted her, he could drop the handkerchief—I felt—in his own good time...
"Your turn will come," I told her.