When I might I slipped off to my own room—to think. The shock Uncle gave me at dinner still hurt, and I am beginning to think the game is not worth the candle. I believe in my efforts to get into society, I have merely got switched into the fast set, and this is more than I bargained for. How my head aches—and my nerves are all on edge. Cocktails and cigarettes!
No further engagement was made with me by Charlie. I think I shall leave the future to him. If he wishes to see me again, he can ring me up or write. Since I arrived in town I have sought pleasure assiduously and found—sensations. I dwell in fear continuously—fear that I shall be discovered in my duplicity. Life is a nightmare—and yet I go on! No doubt my remorse is due to reaction after this afternoon’s festivities. If only Mr. Bang were as nice as I believe him to be good! Why are good people so uninteresting, and in some cases so—positively repugnant?
Nothing on the tapis for to-morrow but writing this wretched diary and—possibly a shopping expedition.
January 5th.
Someone has said: “You can never tell from the way the wind blows how the baby will look in the photograph.” Mumsie, Sister Mary and I walked demurely into town escorted by Mr. Bang. Could anything be less promising?
Nothing would do our cavalier but that we must enjoy his hospitality at the Green Tree Restaurant for lunch. “They have a decent orchestra and the grub is not half bad,” he pleaded.
We entered a confectionery shop and passed up a handsome stairway to the first floor, where we were met by a head waiter, and shown to a table from which, through the large window, we commanded a view of the street. As we approached our table, I recognized at the next one Mrs. Mount and her daughter, and at a table over against the wall Iris Carey and Basil Locke. I kept my eyes away from these last and prepared my best smile for Mrs. Mount, and with Mumsie bowed my acknowledgments. I took a seat that would place my back to Iris and her swain.
Mr. Bang pressed me to supplement my modest order with several dainties and we settled down to await the arrival of a generous lunch. I felt the place very hot, though the air was not close.
Mumsie set her eyes on the young creatures and said to Sister Mary, “There’s the Carey girl having lunch with Basil Locke, and drinking wine too—the brats.”
“Isn’t it awful, and so young?” agreed Sister Mary.