There was no difficulty about securing my brother. It is a pose with Brackenbury to pretend that he hates what he calls "orders-and-decorations" parties, but my sister-in-law is not so jaded. Perhaps in the world in which she was reared... I certainly notice marked civility and almost affection if Ruth hears that I am giving a party and that the princess has graciously consented to be present. My niece Phyllida is less punctilious in her courtesy; there is rather too much of the "Oh-I-don't-care-what-I-do" attitude about her, and, since she found that her cabman hero was still alive and somewhere in London... A curious recklessness and restlessness... I invited her because I cannot bear to see a girl—young, well-connected, rich, good-looking—simply moping... They say it takes two to make a quarrel, and I have refused to quarrel with Phyllida, so that at last I think she has ceased to believe that I turned the cabman hero against her in the hope of keeping her for my boy. I—have—not—lifted—a—finger! She evidently enjoys being with Will; and, if he wanted to marry her, I should not stand in the way. Ever since that Morecambe nightmare began, I have felt that I shall never know a moment's peace until he is safely married...
I don't want him to go abroad... When any one in his position seeks his fortune in a foreign country, there is always a tendency among some people to ask what he has done, to treat him as a remittance-man ... which is offensive without being particularly amusing... I have lost the thread...
Ah, yes! My little party. One thing I noticed on returning to England was the extraordinary mixture of people that one met everywhere. For this, though I am personally fond of her, I blame Connie Maitland more than any dozen other women. Not being a persona grata in certain circles to which she would dearly like to have the entrée, she seems to cultivate numbers for their own sake. When the princess... More by a hint, you understand, than by any direct criticism... But she cannot help seeing that the old barriers have been broken down... It is always on the tip of my tongue to make my Lady Maitland wholly responsible. During the war one was flung against these people, as it were: the strangest generals who seemed to have been stock-brokers the moment before... All that sort of thing... "Captains of Industry" (I believe they are called) with the queerest accents and all holding high office. There was an epidemic of cabinet rank; and, if one had business in Whitehall, one met the oddest people—never the same two days running. Connie Maitland thoroughly enjoyed herself, I always felt; so many new people to know before any one else. (I am not ashamed to confess that it is not my ambition simply to know new people.) When I returned from Menton, I did drop a little hint and suggest that, as the war was now over, she ought to revise some of her war friendships. Quite kindly and gradually, you understand; I know that with some of the really estimable women who sat on committees with me... "Is it true kindness?," I asked myself. "They lead their lives, you lead yours; the war brought you together, but you've nothing else in common..." After that breath of fresh air at Menton, I was honestly truly aghast to find what London had become without one's noticing it. I sought an opportunity of speaking to the princess about it: I felt some one ought to make a little stand. I don't count, because I'm not in a position to entertain; but I did resolve to confine my little party simply to the old friends...
I invited Spenworth... You look surprised; but, if you will think for a moment... Arthur's brother. It was notorious that I had for years disapproved of his whole way of life, but the family had to shew a united front. His very recent divorce, which—between ourselves—I think was forgiven far too quickly; goodness me, I hope I am not a bigot and I would assuredly persecute no one, but "whom God hath joined together" ... I invited him chiefly on his wife's account; her position is not so secure that she can altogether dispense with a supporting hand, and I was tired of confessing to people that I had not even met her... Never can I forget, either, Spenworth's triumph when for a moment Arthur seemed to be treading his path... My Nemesis for trying to hold my head erect and daring to reprove him. No, I did not hear what he said, but I am certain that he said it...
For several days—to my amazement, for I knew they were at Cheniston—there was no reply. Then I met Spenworth in the street.
"Oh, I say!," he began. (You know that hunting-field voice of his?) "You aren't playing the game with poor old Arthur, you know."
"I'm afraid I must beg for enlightenment," I said.
"Oh, well, you know, this is the first time the poor old boy has ever left the rails." (I am always lost in admiration of Spenworth's elegance!) "Dust his jacket for him at home as much as you like, but don't make him eat humble-pie in public, don't make an exhibition of him."
"I don't know what you mean," I said.
"Oh, bunkum! Every one knows he tried to slip his collar, every one thought he'd got away; and, now that you've recaptured him, you want to shew him off in his muzzle. 'Tain't cricket, Ann, if you ask me; you've won, and there's no need to crow over the old boy. 'Tain't as if he'd given you any trouble before."