“Jutland. It’s just the Bath, not a baronetcy. Olive’s at church.”
“I thought she was agnostic?”
Margot said gently, “It takes them that way, rather often. She’s been to church a goodish bit ever since Bobby—”
“Oh, yes. Young Ilden was killed.—What sort of person was he?”
“One of the silent, strong Empire builders—but nice about it.... Olive’s aged, rather.” She planted the last holly spray on the lap of a gilt Buddha then smiled at Gurdy across a yellow shoulder, “I’d forgotten how blue your eyes are. Almost violet. Goes with your hair. Very effective.... Your chin’s still too big.... Oh, a letter from Dad this morning. He was thinking of running over. But Carlson’s worse.... D’you know, it’d be a noble deed to poison Carlson. There he is stuck in the house. Why don’t useless people like that dry up and blow away?”
“I don’t think he’s useless,” Gurdy argued, “He makes Mark put on a comedy now and then. He swears better than any one I know. And you ought to be grateful to him. If Mark hadn’t had him for company you’d probably have been hauled home long ago.”
Margot opened a Russian, lead box on a table and lit a cigarette. She said, “Don’t think so. Dad’s never made the slightest sign of hauling me home. Especially after Mr. Frohman.... Ugh! I almost had nervous prostration, when I heard Dad had sailed after the Lusitania!” Her lids fell and shook the astonishing lashes against the pale brown of her cheeks. Then she chuckled, “The joke is, I’d as soon have gone home long ago. I’m mad about Olive, of course. And I’ve had all sorts of a good time. But I’d rather be home.... How’s your mother?” He was answering when the butler barked names from the doorway. Margot whispered, “Run. The rehearsal. Go hide in the drawing room. These are all bores.”
He passed out through a group of men and girls, encountered a Colonel of the British General Staff in the hall and was cordially halted. He stood discussing military shoes with this dignitary as Olive Ilden let herself into the hall. Gurdy recalled her slim and tall. Now that he looked down, she seemed stout, no longer handsome but the deep voice remained charming as it rose from her black veils. She led him off into the drawing room and said, at once, “Margot’s pretty, isn’t she?”
“Yes. Mark’s been raving about her but I thought—”
“You thought he was idealizing, after his customary manner? He sent me a picture of you, so I’m not surprised. Don’t sit in that chair. It’s for pygmies.... I want to talk about Margot and it’s likely we won’t have another chance. You two don’t write each other letters. Had you heard from Mark that she wants to play?”