III
Dotworth had been a failure: they had made neither friends nor money there, and they had all been glad to leave the place. They would really make a start, they told one another, at Sandybay, which some of them knew and proclaimed to be ‚Äúnot a bad date.‚Äù Miss Trant had never heard of it before, but then she knew very little about the East Coast. It was certainly very pleasant after Rawsley and Dotworth, for it was a clean friendly little town, open to salt winds that as yet only had a healthy chill in them. In the mornings, when the October sun struggled through, there was a fine sparkle on the sea, the air was as crisp and sweet as an apple, and it was delightful to swing along the promenade. In the centre, the old part, Sandybay was still a fishing village, a fascinating higgledy-piggledy of boats, nets, capstans, blue jerseys, mahogany faces, and queer inns. On the outskirts, it was a residential town; it had a ring of little villas and two golf courses; and retired army officers and district commissioners abounded there, battling with weeds in the morning, trying a niblick in the afternoon, and bidding a quite unjustified Three No Trumps in the evening. In the spaces between these outskirts and the old fishing village, Sandybay was a growing but still ‚Äúselect‚Äù resort; and here you found the Beach Hotel, the Sandringham Boardinghouse, the Old Oak Caf√©, the Elite Picture Theatre, Eastman‚Äôs Circulating Library, the Municipal Bandstand and Floral Gardens, and the Pier. This Pier went forward about twenty-five yards, then swelled out in a rather dropsical fashion to support a Pavilion, which looked like an overgrown and neglected greenhouse. However, it boasted a stage equipped with floodlights, a spotlight, and an excellent curtain, a grand piano and several dressing-rooms for artistes, and seating accommodation for six hundred people. After achieving this Pavilion, the Pier went on again for about a hundred yards and ended in a subdued riot of little kiosks and automatic machines, the whole dominated by the Refreshment Room, where the very red-faced men who took out monthly angling tickets could obtain a little Scotch or Draught Bass. It is perhaps worth remarking, in passing, that our friend Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham had made the Refreshment Room his headquarters and had become a great favourite with both the staff (one blonde and one brunette) and the patrons, who included in their number two gentlemen who were nearly sure‚ÅÝ‚Äîafter some prompting‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat they had seen Mr.¬ÝMitcham before, one in Singapore in Nought Three, the other in Sydney in Nought Eight. Mr.¬ÝMitcham himself declared more than once that he remembered them both very well, and they were all very happy together.
It was the manager of the Pier who had engaged the Good Companions (on a sixty percent basis, with a thirty-pound guarantee), for Sandybay was trying to extend its season until the end of October and had promised its visitors a “First-class Concert Party every week in the Pier Pavilion” throughout the month. The fact that the Good Companions had found it ridiculously easy to find lodgings (with sitting-rooms wildly thrown in) suggested there had not been any rush of belated holidaymakers during this second week of October. And so far, that is, on Monday and Tuesday evenings, the attendances had been poor. Jimmy Nunn said there were plenty of people in the town, enough to give them a full house every night, but that they had no inclination to walk out to the Pier Pavilion. Miss Trant agreed with him. The town was bright enough in the morning, lit by the huge flickering gem of the sea, but by teatime this brightness had faded, the waters were ghostly, the waves came lapping in melancholy, and the evening, twice accompanied by a drizzle of rain, was forlorn indeed, and there was nothing more forlorn in it than the echoing length of the Pier. A cosy theatre of the old-fashioned kind, all gilt and crimson plush, stuffy and glittering, would have been proof against such evenings, but this Pavilion, like nothing but a huge decayed conservatory, was helpless before the mourning mystery of the autumnal darkness and the moan of the sea. But there was time yet, they told one another; the end of the week was always better than the beginning.
Miss Trant had had an early lunch on this Wednesday so that she could see what was happening in the Pavilion, where Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, assisted by Joe (who was not a bad hand with a paint brush), was making a little set for a new production-number-cum-sketch devised by Jimmy Nunn. This set showed the exterior of a cottage and consisted of a practicable door and window and a few square feet of painted canvas at each side. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd and Joe had nearly finished and were now sitting in their shirtsleeves triumphantly refreshing themselves with a bottle of beer and large sandwiches. Inigo and Jimmy Nunn were at the piano, trying over a new song. Miss Trant walked through the auditorium and then stopped in the centre gangway near the end of the third row of front seats, to examine the set, which was propped up, drying, at one side of the stage. She had just congratulated the two craftsmen, who were very proud of themselves, and was thinking what fun it was to be able to have things like that made, merely to have an excuse to return happily to the play of the nursery, when the Pavilion attendant, a man with one eye and a long melancholy face, came up to her and said: ‚ÄúThere‚Äôs a lady askin‚Äô for yer, Miss Trant.‚Äù
“Who is it?” She was puzzled.
“I dunno, Miss,” he replied, looking at her sadly with his single eye. “She wouldn’t give no name.”
“Well, ask her to come in here then, please,” she said, and exchanged a few more remarks with the craftsmen on the stage. Then she looked round. Somebody had just entered the Pavilion, was approaching her. It was her sister Hilda, and the very last person she wished to see at that moment.
So far Hilda has only entered this chronicle in the conversation of her nephew Hilary, who reported that she was ‚Äúfrightfully down on‚Äù the idea that he should spend his time with The Static. For the last fifteen years she has been the wife of Lawrence Newent, of Porchison, Newent, and Porchison, solicitors; the excellent mother of his two children and the equally excellent ruler of his household in Cadogan Place. She is not unlike our Miss Trant in appearance, but shorter and stouter and glossier; is actually six years older but looks ten. As a wife, a mother, a mistress of the house, she is a sensible and capable woman; it is only as a social being, a member of society, or rather two societies, for she is always leaving one and struggling into another, that she is somewhat ridiculous. In her time she has been the victim of many passing enthusiasms and cults, but it is obvious that though they might necessitate a revaluation of the whole universe (there was Theosophy, for example) they never at their maddest urge came within a thousand miles of managing a pierrot troupe. But for the last twenty years, she has alternately condemned her sister Elizabeth for holding herself in too much and for wanting to break out. During the last years of their father‚Äôs life she did not hesitate to say that Elizabeth had been foolish enough to allow herself to be submerged. At this moment‚ÅÝ‚Äîand it is written in her eyes as she approaches‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe thinks the girl has emerged, broken out, with a vengeance.
They kissed. ‚ÄúBut, Hilda‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîand Miss Trant gave a short nervous laugh‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúwhat a surprise!‚Äù
‚ÄúIsn‚Äôt it?‚Äù said Hilda, rather vaguely. She was busy looking about her. ‚ÄúThey told me I should find you here.‚Äù Her glance rested on Inigo‚Äôs lock of hair, on Jimmy‚Äôs puckered shining face above the piano, on Joe‚Äôs shirtsleeves, on Mr.¬ÝOakroyd‚Äôs sandwich and bottle of beer. And when her eyes returned to meet her sister‚Äôs, all these things had been quietly extinguished or at least removed a great distance.
“How did you find me?” Miss Trant asked quickly.
“Truby told me,” Hilda replied. “He wrote. He seemed to think it was his duty to write, that we ought to know. And I agree.”
“Well, I think it was rather impertinent of him,” cried Miss Trant. “It was no duty of his at all. I’m sure that’s not the way Lawrence treats his clients. Not that I really mind, of course.”
“Naturally. Unless, of course, you didn’t want us to know.”
Miss Trant coloured. “That’s absurd. I should have told you myself. I’ve had no opportunity yet, really. I’ve been so busy. Honestly, Hilda, I’ve never been so busy before. You’ve no idea what a lot there is to do.”
Hilda closed her eyes, an old trick of hers, effective for once because it seemed to remove still further the shirtsleeves and bottles of beer.
“But tell me,” Miss Trant went on, “how you came to find me here.”
‚ÄúI wired to Truby and he told me where you were. Then I came down the moment I could. It was fearfully inconvenient putting everything off today‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou know what it‚Äôs like in town now, the awful rush‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut I simply had to come. Lawrence wanted to come himself. At first, when he heard about it, he laughed‚ÅÝ‚Äîexercising his precious sense of humour, as usual‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut he soon saw it wasn‚Äôt particularly funny, and he wanted to come because he thought you‚Äôd probably been encouraged to sign some perfectly iniquitous contract or other and would lose all your money. He says this business is full of the most awful swindlers, and he knows all about these things. So he wanted to come himself and get you out of it, he said. But I told him I must see you myself first. There was quite a good train from Liverpool Street, and then of course it didn‚Äôt take me long to guess they would know something about you here. So there you have it, Elizabeth.‚Äù
“I see,” said Miss Trant slowly. Then she suddenly smiled and lightly touched her sister on the arm. “Well, Hilda, I’m very pleased to see you.”
There was a silence between them. From the piano there came a soft tum-tum-tumming. From the other side of the stage came the voice of Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, rather muffled with sandwich, saying very confidentially: ‚ÄúI‚Äôll tell tha what it is, Joe. Ale you get from t‚Äôwood‚Äôs bad enuff naradays, but this ‚Äôere bottled stuff‚Äôs nowt but fizz, blaws you up like a balloon.‚Äù
Hilda sent a glance of despair towards the stage, then moved away, down the gangway. Miss Trant followed her, and together they walked to the entrance, where they stopped.
“Now, my dear,” cried Miss Trant, “I can see you’re nearly bursting. Do begin.”
“And I can see you’re ready to fly into a temper and talk all kinds of nonsense,” replied Hilda good-humouredly. “And I refuse to have a quarrel in this absurd place, it would be too ridiculous.” Then she looked grave. “But I must say something.”
“Well, say it, Hilda, say it at once.”
‚ÄúBut my dear, you must admit I have a right to know. You might at least have told me. What I can‚Äôt understand is how on earth you came to be mixed up with these people at all. The last time I heard from you, you were down at Hitherton furnishing the Cottage and arranging to let the Hall. Then the next thing I hear‚ÅÝ‚Äîand from Truby of all people‚ÅÝ‚Äîis that you‚Äôre wandering round the country with a lot of wretched pierrots. It‚Äôs too absurd. Just as if you were a little stage-struck girl! How did it happen?‚Äù
Miss Trant told her, as best she could, how it happened, giving a very brief sketch of her adventures since she left Hitherton.
“And I suppose it is rather absurd,” she admitted, in conclusion. “But one can’t always be sensible, can one? After all, you’ve always done the sort of things you wanted to do, you know, Hilda. And this is something to do, and it’s fun, and it isn’t doing anybody any harm, in fact it’s doing all kinds, of people some good, me included.”
“I’m not at all sure about that,” said Hilda.
“I am,” said her sister decisively.
Hilda stared at her and was silent for a moment. She gave the impression that she was deciding to change her course of action, discarding a whole set of remonstrances and appeals. ‚ÄúWell, Elizabeth,‚Äù she said at last, quietly, ‚ÄúI‚Äôm not going to be the tremendous elder sister and all the rest of it. I‚Äôm not going to pretend to be an old-fashioned snob. I won‚Äôt remind you what Father would have thought of this‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù She saw her sister smile, and went on hastily: ‚ÄúYes, I know. He didn‚Äôt approve of some of the things I used to do. I‚Äôll admit we shall have to leave him out because he hardly approved of anything that wasn‚Äôt absolutely Victoria and Albert. But nobody has ever called me stodgy, have they? I‚Äôm not stuffy about the theatre and theatrical people. I‚Äôve met them at parties‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe successful ones, I mean‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I‚Äôve invited them myself, and I‚Äôll admit I‚Äôve been glad to see them and meet them. Everybody is, nowadays, except a few old freaks. But this sort of thing is simply shabby and fourth-rate. It‚Äôs nothing but a crowd of beery men and common little girls trailing round from one dirty set of lodgings to another, living in the most awful kind of way on about twopence a week‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“Splendid, Hilda!” cried Miss Trant. “I never knew you were such an orator. I don’t agree with you, but go on.”
“Well, you must admit, my dear, there isn’t one of these people you’d dream of asking in even for a cup of tea at Hitherton.”
“I don’t admit it. And even if I did, it doesn’t prove anything. I refuse to regulate everything by what I might do at Hitherton. I’ve had rather a lot of Hitherton, you know,” she added, and in a tone of voice that helped Hilda to remember that she herself had taken care to have very little of Hitherton.
“Oh, I know you had a dull and rather awful time there,” cried Hilda, rather plaintively. “And you know that I didn’t mind at all about all the money and everything coming to you.”
“Of course, my dear. You needn’t tell me that.”
‚ÄúBoth Lawrence and I were glad, and we were hoping you would come and stay with us for some time and meet people and perhaps settle in town if you wanted to. I‚Äôd made all sorts of plans, Elizabeth‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù
“I’m very sorry to have upset your plans, Hilda.”
‚ÄúNo, don‚Äôt be absurd. But you must see that you can‚Äôt possibly go on with this crazy scheme. If it were something decent, I wouldn‚Äôt mind‚ÅÝ‚Äîthough you must admit you don‚Äôt know anything about business‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut this is too ridiculous. To begin with, it‚Äôs too dingy and futile for words. Then you don‚Äôt know anything about this sort of thing.‚Äù
“Well, I didn’t certainly. But I’m learning. And it’s great fun. I like it.”
“And as Lawrence says, these pierrot people are probably robbing you right and left, just living on you and laughing at you behind your back.”
‚ÄúNo, they‚Äôre not,‚Äù replied Miss Trant warmly. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs certainly not true. They‚Äôre very grateful‚ÅÝ‚Äîand‚ÅÝ‚Äîand loyal‚ÅÝ‚Äîand awfully hardworking. They‚Äôre just as honest and decent as any of the people I‚Äôve known. The only difference is‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey‚Äôre more amusing.‚Äù
“For a time perhaps, that’s all.”
“That may be. Perhaps one can only settle down with the kind of people one’s always known, and been brought up with, but then I’m not settling down, I’m having a change. You see, I wanted something to do, and now I’m doing it. I’m quite willing to admit that I may get tired of this life pretty soon, but until I do I intend to go on with it, to finish my little adventure. So there you are, Hilda!”
‚ÄúOh, but don‚Äôt you see‚ÅÝ‚Äî!‚Äù She was exasperated now. ‚ÄúIt‚Äôs just like talking to one of the children, it really is. Don‚Äôt you see that anything might happen while you‚Äôre going on like this? We can‚Äôt have you wandering round all winter staying in the most dreadful places by yourself, without a single person near you could trust to be sensible. And not only that, but what‚Äôs going to happen to your money? You might easily lose every penny. It‚Äôs monstrous, Elizabeth. Now honestly, have you made any money so far?‚Äù
“Not a ha’penny,” Miss Trant replied cheerfully.
“There you are!” Hilda was triumphant. “You haven’t, and you never will. I expect they’re all hopeless, these people, or they wouldn’t have been stranded like that.”
‚ÄúNo, they‚Äôre not. Some of them are really clever, far too good for the audiences they‚Äôre having. They really are, Hilda. Stay and see the‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîshe hesitated, then brought it out bravely‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúthe show tonight.‚Äù She laughed. ‚ÄúI‚Äôll give you a free pass, just as if you had exhibited one of our bills in your shop window.‚Äù
‚ÄúNo, that‚Äôs not funny, Elizabeth,‚Äù Hilda snapped. ‚ÄúAnd I can‚Äôt stay tonight, and even if I could, I wouldn‚Äôt. The whole thing‚Äôs perfectly monstrous. Look at those people in there! You know very well you felt uncomfortable the moment I set eyes on them. Good Companions indeed! And all the time you‚Äôre spending your money to keep these feeble creatures in‚ÅÝ‚Äîin‚ÅÝ‚Äîbeer. And they‚Äôre laughing at you, knowing quite well they don‚Äôt even need audiences when they‚Äôve got you to fatten on. And you could be doing so much now, staying with us and meeting the right kind of people, interesting men, and‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh‚ÅÝ‚Äîeverything. I‚Äôd like to know how much money you‚Äôve thrown away already.‚Äù
“Well, I don’t propose to tell you, Hilda.”
“If you’d made some money out of it, that would be the tiniest excuse for going on,” cried Hilda, who plainly held, however, that it would really be no excuse at all, and was only using the first argument that came to hand. “As it is, there’s no excuse.”
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs where you are wrong,‚Äù said Miss Trant eagerly. ‚ÄúIt seems to me all the more reason for my sticking to them. I‚Äôm far keener about it now than I was a week ago. We went to a place called Dotworth‚ÅÝ‚Äîa most deadly little town‚ÅÝ‚Äîand lost money there. Yes, it was a complete fiasco, I admit it. And after that, I told myself I wouldn‚Äôt give up for anything, not until we were really successful. Can‚Äôt you imagine what I feel about it, Hilda? I really like these pierrots‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚Äôd like some of them too‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I think they like me and hate the thought of my losing money, and I should hate myself forever if I ran away now and let them down. Besides, I should despise myself just for running away, throwing all the adventure away just to feel safe and comfortable, just because a few people might be shocked.‚Äù
“You’re getting angry and excited now, my dear,” cried Hilda, raising her voice. “I knew you would. And I knew you’d be absurd and stubborn about it. You stuck down there at Hitherton, wouldn’t move, and now of course the minute you feel yourself free, you must go and do something absolutely senseless. Yes, wickedly senseless!” There were tears of vexation in her eyes. “If you want to do something, have adventures, as you call it, there are plenty of things you could do that would be worth doing and wouldn’t make you and the rest of us simply laughingstocks. It’s all so silly and useless. There couldn’t be anything sillier. Singing old music-hall songs and joggling at the knees and repeating stale jokes! Going round making shopgirls giggle! Cadging sixpences from butchers’ boys! And you of all people, Elizabeth! It’s perfectly incredible. And you might be meeting men you could marry, instead of hobnobbing with broken-down actors in awful places like this.”
“I don’t want to marry. And please stop, Hilda.” Miss Trant was not flushed now but pale. For the moment she could not stand up against this vehemence, in which there was real cutting scorn. She was at a grave disadvantage because she was still open to all the attack and could not produce a defence that she knew existed. It was not merely that Hilda would not understand her motives, but that she did not really understand them herself. They came from obscure but vital needs, from desires that had vanished underground, like the limestone country rivers, in girlhood. She did not know herself why there was something strangely satisfying about this life of dancing and singing and tinsel and limelight and odd journeys. She knew it was good to be full of plans, to be responsible, to be the comrade, perhaps the leader of these lovable creatures of the stage, but the rest she could not explain. So, for the moment, she was dumb, helpless.
Hilda saw her advantage but halted for a breathing-space before she pressed it home. And she was too late.
“Oh, Miss Trant!” cried a voice.
“Why, Miss Thong!” cried Miss Trant delightedly. “I’m so glad.”
“Yes, isn’t it nice? And what a journey! But here I am, with the dresses all ready. We’ve brought them too, you see. Elsie carried most, of course. Oh, but I’m interrupting, aren’t I? I’m sorry, I’m sure. You know what I am, I get carried away.”
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs all right,‚Äù said Miss Trant, smiling at her. ‚ÄúThis is my sister, Mrs.¬ÝNewent. And this is Miss Thong, who has been making some absolutely wonderful dresses for us.‚Äù
‚ÄúVery pleased to meet you, I‚Äôm sure,‚Äù cried Miss Thong, who was bobbing about in an ecstasy. ‚ÄúThough if I‚Äôm fit to meet anybody or even to be seen, I shall be surprised, I shall indeed. What with working at the dresses and putting people off and smoothing Pa down and packing up and the long railway ride and meeting Elsie at the station and seeing the sea‚ÅÝ‚Äîwell, well‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù She began coughing, wrestled desperately, and gasped out her apologies to Hilda, who could not help staring at the queer rickety little mortal. ‚ÄúThere, if that doesn‚Äôt just serve me right,‚Äù she concluded cheerfully. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs me all over. Talk, talk, get excited, won‚Äôt let others get a word in edgeways, then I land myself! Miss Trant‚Äôll tell you how silly I am, Mrs.¬ÝNewark.‚Äù
“We must go into the Pavilion and look at the dresses,” said Miss Trant. “Unless you’re too tired, Miss Thong, and would rather wait.”
‚ÄúI couldn‚Äôt wait a single minute. I said to Elsie, ‚ÄòJust take me to Miss Trant and let her see the dresses or I shan‚Äôt rest,‚Äô I said, ‚Äòor it‚Äôs like being here under false pretences,‚Äô I said, didn‚Äôt I, Elsie? Where is she? She must have taken them in, all but these. Yes, do let‚Äôs go in. Are you interested in these stage dresses, Mrs.¬ÝNewark? I‚Äôm sure you are, being Miss Trant‚Äôs sister, and then having such nice taste yourself. You don‚Äôt mind me saying that, do you? I know it‚Äôs rather personal, coming from a stranger, but us dressmakers we can‚Äôt help noticing, you know. I see in a minute. ‚ÄòShe knows what‚Äôs nice,‚Äô I say to myself. ‚ÄòLondon style and good,‚Äô I said to myself the very moment I saw you, Mrs.¬ÝNewark. You‚Äôre sure you don‚Äôt mind? I don‚Äôt know what I shan‚Äôt say before the day‚Äôs out, and that‚Äôs the state I‚Äôm in. Doesn‚Äôt the air seem good? Can‚Äôt you feel it going inside you?‚Äù
“I’ve only just arrived myself,” said Hilda. “But the air does seem good here, I must say.”
“Doesn’t it?” cried Miss Thong, with so much enthusiasm that the two of them might have been arguing for hours and have only just reached a triumphant concordance. “That’s exactly what I say. I felt the benefit of it as soon as I set foot outside the station. Elsie laughed at me the way I breathed in and out, but get it while you can, I say. Is this where we go?”
“Come along, Hilda,” said Miss Trant. “You must see these dresses.” And then, a bolder stroke: “I’d like your advice too.”
And Hilda followed them in, only making a few faint noises that perhaps suggested it was no concern of hers. She had been offering her sister advice about clothes for the last fifteen years and she was not going to stop now, even if the girl had suddenly turned herself into a manager of pierrots. Once inside, however, she was compelled to listen to the enthusiastic babble of Miss Thong, who seemed to think it was her duty to attach herself to this other visitor.
‚ÄúSo this is where you are then,‚Äù cried Miss Thong. ‚ÄúOh, isn‚Äôt it nicely fitted-up? Proper stage too! And I shall see them all on it tonight and my dresses as well. Where will I be sitting, I wonder. I‚Äôd like to sit on my seat now, just to try it. Where will you be sitting, Mrs.¬ÝNewark?‚Äù
“I shan’t be here. I’m going back to London.”
“Are you really? Isn’t that a shame! But I expect you can see them any time, can’t you, being Miss Trant’s sister and able to come and go, I dare say. It’s a treat for little me, I can tell you. The way I’ve looked forward to it, and coming on top of the journey as well! They are good, aren’t they? And better still now than when I saw them! And fancy seeing the dresses you’ve made yourself coming out on to the stage, part of it all, as you might say, just fancy that!”
Miss Trant was examining a dress that Elsie was holding out.
“Oh, but this is perfectly lovely,” she cried. She looked up, caught her sister’s eye, and saw a gleam of interest in it. “Do look at this, Hilda,” she said.
“Yes, it is rather charming,” Hilda admitted. “But too good for this sort of work, I should think.”
‚ÄúOh, no, Mrs.¬ÝNewark,‚Äù cried Miss Thong. ‚ÄúYou can‚Äôt say that. It‚Äôll wear like anything and wash too. Just you take hold of it and have a good look.‚Äù
And Hilda did have a good look, at that and the others, and though she still maintained a rather stately and condescending attitude, as if she were looking down upon the dresses, their creator, and their prospective wearers, from a great height, she even went to the length of congratulating Miss Thong.
“I had thought of having a sort of mid-Victorian scene,” Miss Trant told her. “Do you remember that pile of old songs we had at home? Some of them could be used. Do you remember how we used to laugh at them, though some were quite charming? And what became of the crinoline? Didn’t you take it to town for a fancy dress?”
“Yes, but you couldn’t use it for the stage,” said Hilda, forgetting herself. “It’s not bright enough. Besides, it’s far too skimpy. Don’t you remember how small it was? I meant to have it altered but I never did.”
‚ÄúYes, I know, Hilda, but I thought if you wouldn‚Äôt mind lending it to me‚ÅÝ‚Äîa mid-Victorian scene would be delightful, wouldn‚Äôt it‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMiss Thong could copy it more or less. You see how clever she is. I quite agree that it‚Äôs not bright enough. Now what colours would you suggest, my dear?‚Äù she inquired demurely.
It was absurd, but Hilda found herself not only promising to lend the crinoline but also suggesting colours and materials and actually discussing the whole question with this fantastic little dressmaker that Elizabeth had picked up on her ridiculous travels. And by the time they had finished, she was ready for a cup of tea. But she did not stay for the performance in the evening. To have done that would have been to suggest that she had no will of her own at all, to say nothing of missing the Dexters’ party. She insisted upon returning, as she had planned, by the 5:35, and said so a good many times, for somehow it sounded like a train that a strong-minded woman would catch.
‚ÄúAnd mind you, Elizabeth,‚Äù she said at the station, ‚ÄúI haven‚Äôt changed my mind in the least. I think you‚Äôre behaving dreadfully. The whole thing‚Äôs too absurd for anything. And you really ought to see Lawrence as soon as you can, because you‚Äôre probably being hopelessly swindled every minute. And do look after yourself, and the very instant you feel less mulish and realize how futile and wearing the whole thing is, let us know, just drop it, and run, and we‚Äôll see‚ÅÝ‚Äîat least Lawrence will‚ÅÝ‚Äîthat these people don‚Äôt try to take advantage.‚Äù
‚ÄúVery well, Hilda. I will,‚Äù said Miss Trant, very quietly, almost submissively, and with only the tiniest flicker of amusement in her face. But she could hear the voice of another Hilda, busy explaining away the antics of her younger sister, Elizabeth, and even making social capital out of them ‚ÄúYes, my dear,‚Äù this voice was saying brightly, ‚Äúit‚Äôs perfectly true. The crazy creature is actually running round the country, managing a concert party. Of course they‚Äôre not the ordinary kind of awful fourth-rate people, but really good‚ÅÝ‚Äîone or two quite young and simply geniuses‚ÅÝ‚Äîand Elizabeth discovered them in some obscure place and said she would make them famous. And there she is, hiring theatres and designing costumes and all the rest of it. Oh, quite crazy, of course! But very amusing and original, don‚Äôt you think? Exactly! Why not? That‚Äôs what I say. As a matter of fact, I‚Äôve given her some pretty good advice about one or two things she didn‚Äôt understand.‚Äù And so that other voice ran on, while Miss Trant lifted her eyes demurely to meet her sister‚Äôs reproachful glance.
After Hilda had given a final caution and a final wave from the 5:35 Miss Trant returned briskly to her little hotel, with a wind from the sea whipping the blood in her cheeks for her flying colours. She did not care now. There were no longer two Miss Trants, wrestling and jabbing in the dark of her mind, but only one, looking boldly upon the world out of two fine grey eyes. The test had come‚ÅÝ‚Äîand gone. If only these people would crowd in and enjoy her Good Companions, instead of staying miserably at home or going to the pictures or sitting in bar-parlours all night, she would be happy.