“One touch of chiffon makes the whole world kin,” said Katherine, who looked upon matters with a satirical, yet kindly eye.
She was drawn perforce into the movement, being consulted on all sides as to matching of shades and the suitability of hats. She bought outright an entire wardrobe for Miss Bunter, who begged her to go shopping with her, and then sat helpless by the counter, fingering mountains of materials. Even Frau Schultz was softened. But she was the only one who did not consult Katherine. She took Felicia into her confidence, and exhibited, among other seasonable vestments, a blood-coloured blouse, covered with mauve spots as large as two-franc pieces, which she pronounced to be very genteel. Every one had something new to wear for the summer. Mme. Popea scattered scraps of stuff about her room, in a kind of libationary joy. The little dressmaker, bristling with pins, haunted the landings, when not within the little cabinet assigned to her, from outside whose door could be unceasingly heard the sharp tearing of materials and the droning buzz of the sewing-machine.
Summer changes took place in the pension itself. The storey above, which was let unfurnished during the winter, was incorporated, as usual, into the general establishment. There was a week of cleaning, during which the house was given over to men in soft straw hats and blue blouses. And then a week of straightening, when new curtains were put up, and floors rewaxed, and dingy coverings removed from chairs and sofas, which burst out resplendent in bright green velvet. The latter proceedings were superintended by an agile young man in alpaca sleeves and green baize apron. It was the summer waiter, who had emerged from the mysterious limbo where summer waiters hibernate, and was resuming his duties, apparently at the point he had left them at the end of the previous season. Mme. Boccard and he conversed at vast distances, which was trying to those who did not see how the welfare of the pension was being thereby furthered. In her quiet moments, the good lady was busy sending out prospectuses and answering replies to advertisements and applications. She went about smiling perspiringly at the prospect of a successful season.
The first new guests to arrive were M. le Commandant Porniclion and his wife. He was a stout-hearted old Gascon, a veteran of Solferino and Gravelotte, who talked in a great voice and with alarming gestures of blood and battles, and obeyed his little brown wife like a lamb. His friend, Colonel Cazet, was coming with his wife later on. For some years they had been regular summer boarders of Mme. Boccard. The next arrival was a middle-aged man, called Skeogh, who had commercial business in Geneva. At the first he caused disappointment through adding up figures in a little black book at meal times. But Frau Schultz found him a most superior person, after listening to a confidential account of the jute market, in which commodity she seemed to have been vaguely interested at one period of her life. Whereupon she talked to him about Lottchen, and he put away the black book.
“Quelle Sirène!” cried Mme. Popea, in wicked exultation.
The next to come was Raine Chetwynd. The old man went to the railway-station in the morning to meet him, and bore him back in triumph.
“Oh, Raine, my dear, dear boy,” he said, watching him consuming the coffee and petit pain he had ordered up to his room, “you can't tell how I have longed to see you again.”
“Well, you shall not exile yourself any longer,” said Raine, heartily. “I am going to carry you back to Oxford. The place is a howling wilderness without you. If I could remember the names of all who sent appealing messages to you, it would be a list as long as Leporello's. And you mustn't live away from me again, dad.”
“No,” replied the old man; “but you see I couldn't have done this work as well in Oxford, could I?”
“It's a noble work,” said Raine, with the scholar's instinct.