II
The next day, Elsie became a Dulver. From all parts of the country there came Dulvers to welcome her, the males all large, shining, pink, hoarse, and brassily convivial, the females all large, blonde, and elaborately coiffured and upholstered. It is difficult to imagine what the Dulvers would have made of a christening or a funeral, because it is difficult to imagine a Dulver either coming into this world or going out of it; but there could be no doubt they were designed by Nature to celebrate weddings. The customary festivities, all the eating and drinking, the healths and back-slappings, sledgehammer compliments and naughty jokes, might have been invented for them. Elsie was inspected by all manner of Dulverish relatives, who looked as if they were quite capable of having her stripped and weighed, and of pinching her in sundry places to make sure she was a sound article. After being thus inspected, she was approved. The general opinion obviously was that, with her shape, colouring, and disposition, it was only a matter of time‚ÅÝ‚Äîwith some further coiffuring, upholstering, and the sipping of small ports‚ÅÝ‚Äîbefore she became a very good specimen of the female Dulver, fit to queen it in any hotel. And Bert was proud of her. Bert‚Äôs father and mother, two fine heavy Dulvers, were proud of Bert. All the relatives were proud of somebody or something, if only of their appetites‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚ÄúI‚Äôm sixty past,‚Äù one gigantic purple Dulver told everybody, ‚Äúand I can eat and drink with the best yet.‚Äù Thus they were all happy.
Mr.¬ÝDulver senior, in the business himself and now the host of so many professionally convivial persons, had no alternative, could not have found one even if he had looked for it: the thing had to be done in style. The style he had chosen he called ‚Äúthe slap-up,‚Äù but it might also be described as the Late Roman, so great was the crowd of guests, so lavish the feast. The immense wedding breakfast that awaited them in the long room upstairs drew a tribute even from the old masters, the purple Dulvers. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who was there with the rest of the Good Companions, told his friend Mr.¬ÝJock Campbell that the commercial travellers of Bruddersford, a body of men famous for their mighty feasts, had never done better than this. ‚ÄúThat‚Äôll be champagne i‚Äô them gurt bottles, eh?‚Äù he whispered. Mr.¬ÝCampbell replied indifferently that it was, and that in his opinion champagne was poor stuff. ‚ÄúTak‚Äô notice o‚Äô the whisky, man,‚Äù he added. ‚ÄúIf a few o‚Äô them gaes in for the wines an‚Äô sweet drinks, it‚Äôll work oot tae a bo‚Äôle o‚Äô whisky a man. An‚Äô if I started on it, juist wetted ma lips, I couldna run the length o‚Äô the halfway line Saturday.‚Äù Mr.¬ÝCampbell did not sigh because he was not given to sighing, but he shook his head and looked as wistful as it is possible for a thirteen-stone fullback to look, as he thought what he might have done with all that good whisky if there had been no football field waiting for him on Saturday. But he was gravely happy to be in the presence of so many landlords in a big way. He had been greeted as an old acquaintance by many of the sporting Dulvers.
Miss Trant met some old acquaintances too. At first she was rather dazed among all this handshaking, back-slapping, guffawing, roaring press of people, and after she had shaken hands with the ecstatic Elsie and her Bert, before the wedding breakfast began, she retired into a corner and found herself wishing it was all over. The Dulvers were too large and loud for her, though she could not help being amused by them, for they were all so like one another and so unlike any other set of people she had ever known.
“Now you’re Miss Trant, aren’t you? That’s right, that’s right.”
This came, in a thick, husky voice, from a stout elderly man, who now stood before her with his head cocked on one side. ‚ÄúAnd you don‚Äôt remember me, do you? Knew you right across the room. Couldn‚Äôt get the name at first‚ÅÝ‚Äîgot the face all right, not the name‚ÅÝ‚Äîthen it come back. Now stop a bit and think. Take your time. Remember me?‚Äù
She had seen that prominent, reddish nose, that damp forehead, those little humorous eyes, somewhere before. He had not looked so clean then. Sheffield. That funny little house. It was Elsie’s uncle, the trombone player. Unkerlarthur, they had called him. She told him so.
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs right. You‚Äôve got it,‚Äù he said, shaking hands. ‚ÄúI‚Äôve heard all about you, through our Elsie. She doesn‚Äôt write to me, you know, but our Effie hears from her regular, and she passes it on to me‚ÅÝ‚Äîsome of it, anyhow. Been good to our Elsie, you have, Miss Trant. Oh, I know! Well, she‚Äôs a good girl, isn‚Äôt she?‚ÅÝ‚ÄîI mean, fairly speaking and taking her all round, she is a good girl, isn‚Äôt she? And‚Äù‚ÅÝ‚Äîhere he became very confidential‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äúshe‚Äôs done well for herself, hasn‚Äôt she? He‚Äôs a nice feller.‚Äù
Miss Trant agreed that he was, and said they both seemed very happy.
Unkerlarthur came nearer and was so confidential that his mouth seemed to slip round to the right side of his face and stay there. ‚ÄúThey said to me this morning, both of ‚Äôem, ‚ÄòAny time you want a holiday, little blow by the briny, you come and stay with us at where‚Äôs it‚ÅÝ‚ÄîEastbeach.‚Äô Well, I shan‚Äôt go, ‚Äôcos people get you there, then find they don‚Äôt wancher. ‚ÄòWhat‚Äôs he come for?‚Äô they say. But I like to be asked, don‚Äôt you? Course if it‚Äôs something extra special, like this, I‚Äôd go. Only got here just in time this morning. I was playing at the theatre last night, and had to be up at five this morning to get here at all. Got a substitute for tonight‚ÅÝ‚Äîand God help ‚Äôem when he starts. He‚Äôs got a note like riving oilcloth. Our Effie‚Äôs here. Have you seen her?‚Äù
Miss Trant had hardly time to say she had not, before Unkerlarthur dived into the through and reappeared in about two minutes, dragging Effie with him. Effie, looking like a larger and coarser edition of Elsie, almost hurled herself at Miss Trant, into whose mind there came leaping the oddest recollections of the hotel on the road from Derby, the Tipsteads, and the queer evening in Sheffield.
“Well, I don’t know!” screamed Effie, who was obviously in the highest spirits. “Fancy us meeting like this! Of course I knew we should. And aren’t you looking well! Ten years younger, honest. I hardly knew you. How d’you think I’m looking?”
“Very well indeed,” said Miss Trant, who had just come to the conclusion that Effie resembled nothing so much as a tropical sunset accompanied by rumours of earthquake. “You’re a little thinner perhaps.”
“Think I am!” cried Effie triumphantly. “Nearly a stone down, which is more than our Elsie can say. Now you’ve put a bit on, I should say, but then you could stand it, couldn’t you? Theatricals suit you, Miss Trant, my word they do, the way you’ve come on this winter. Remember when I asked you to take some things to our Elsie? That started it, didn’t it? If it hadn’t been for that, you wouldn’t be here, and Elsie wouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t be here, not really, you know, if you think about it.” And Effie rattled on in this strain for another five minutes, after which she rushed away and joined some male Dulvers.
‚ÄúBy her palaver,‚Äù Unkerlarthur observed sardonically, ‚Äúanybody‚Äôd think she was three brides rolled into one ‚Äôstead of the bride‚Äôs sister. I always knew our Elsie‚Äôd go first. I‚Äôd have laid five to one on it. Our Effie tries too hard, that‚Äôs what‚Äôs matter with her. You‚Äôve got to let ‚Äôem think it‚Äôs their ideear, haven‚Äôt you?‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe fellers, I mean. But soon as our Effie meets ‚Äôem, she lets ‚Äôem hear the wedding bells‚ÅÝ‚Äîan‚Äô they don‚Äôt like it, you know‚ÅÝ‚Äîit has to come gradual. This‚Äôll go to our Effie‚Äôs head properly, this will. There‚Äôll be some trade on with her now. She‚Äôll never rest till she‚Äôs got hold o‚Äô some poor chap.‚Äù
“Miss Trant!”
The voice was familiar. At first it did not seem to come from anywhere in particular, but after a moment or two, during which there was quite a commotion in that corner of the room, and large Dulvers appeared to be hurled right and left by some invisible force, there emerged from the crowd, shaken, gasping, but triumphant, little Miss Thong.
“Now isn’t this a surprise?” she cried, so excited that she could hardly get the words out of her mouth.
“Take it easy,” Unkerlarthur put in severely.
“I should think it is,” said Miss Trant, smiling. “And a very nice one too. I’m so glad to see you again.”
‚ÄúThere now!‚Äù cried Miss Thong, as if to some unseen audience that had been waiting for this moment. ‚ÄúBut I said to Elsie, in a letter of course, after she wrote to me and gave me the wonderful news and said ‚ÄòDo try and come,‚Äô I said to her, ‚ÄòWell, if I can manage it‚ÅÝ‚Äîand that will depend on the work and Pa, but chiefly Pa‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut if I can,‚Äô I said to her, ‚Äòdon‚Äôt tell Miss Trant and then it‚Äôll be such a surprise.‚Äô But after I thought to myself, ‚ÄòOh, she won‚Äôt remember you, you silly little thing, seeing all the people she does and going from place to place all the time, fresh faces everywhere.‚Äô But you did, didn‚Äôt you?‚Äù
“I recognized your voice before I actually saw you,” Miss Trant told her.
“Did you really? Well, but you see, I saw you and called out and then couldn’t get to you and had to push a bit.”
“I saw you knocking ’em about,” said Unkerlarthur solemnly.
‚ÄúThis is Elsie‚Äôs‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù Miss Trant began.
Unkerlarthur held up his hand. “We’ve been interjooced, Miss Thong and me. Haven’t we?”
‚ÄúEarlier this morning,‚Äù cried Miss Thong. ‚ÄúAnd a treat it was too, you telling me all about the theatre. I had to push because everybody here‚Äôs such a size, aren‚Äôt they? I thought I was going to be lost and then they‚Äôd have to put a notice up: ‚ÄòLost‚ÅÝ‚ÄîMiss Thong. Finder Rewarded.‚Äô‚Ää‚Äù She laughed, coughed, and laughed again. ‚ÄúBut did you ever see so many enormous people? I never did.‚Äù
‚ÄúThat‚Äôs ‚Äôcos they‚Äôre all in the public line o‚Äô business,‚Äù Unkerlarthur explained. ‚ÄúThey may not take a lot themselves‚ÅÝ‚Äîsome of ‚Äôem‚Äôll hardly touch it‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut the smell does it. Then some of ‚Äôem‚Äôs bookies, and they‚Äôve got to be fat‚ÅÝ‚Äînobody‚Äôs never give nothing to a thin un.‚Äù
‚ÄúWould you believe it!‚Äù cried Miss Thong. ‚ÄúBut they‚Äôre all nice, aren‚Äôt they? One or two of them have spoken very nicely to me, although they don‚Äôt know who or what I am, and when I came I never expected to be noticed. ‚ÄòJust let me see it,‚Äô I told Elsie. And now I suppose it‚Äôs nearly time to begin eating all this, though how anybody‚ÅÝ‚Äîand I don‚Äôt care how big they are‚ÅÝ‚Äîwill ever get through a quarter of it, I can‚Äôt think.‚Äù
“I shall do my share,” said Unkerlarthur sturdily. “I’m peckish.”
‚ÄúIf I get a mouthful down,‚Äù Miss Thong gasped, ‚ÄúI shall be lucky, I‚Äôm that excited and silly. You know me of old, don‚Äôt you, Miss Trant? Always the same with me. I go on and go on, sitting in my little room‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou remember it, don‚Äôt you, Miss Trant?‚ÅÝ‚Äîthey‚Äôre building now where they kept the hens, though it‚Äôs not spoiling the view‚ÅÝ‚Äîand there I am, doing my work, seeing nobody but customers coming in‚ÅÝ‚Äîand Pa of course‚ÅÝ‚Äîunless there‚Äôs something special on at the chapel. And then,‚Äù she continued, after gasping for breath, ‚Äúwhen something does happen, I‚Äôm all upset‚ÅÝ‚Äîjust excitement and silliness, that‚Äôs all. ‚ÄòOh, stop it, you silly little thing,‚Äô I say to myself many a time, and I could shake myself sometimes, I could really, though that wouldn‚Äôt make it any better, would it?‚Äù
‚ÄúWorse,‚Äù Unkerlarthur told her, ‚Äúmake it worse. What you want to do is to take it easy. What‚Äôs the matter with you is temperament, that‚Äôs what it is. Our family‚Äôs been just the same, except me. And there‚Äôs men playing in bands now‚ÅÝ‚Äîmen I‚Äôve known, men I‚Äôve played with; I could give you their names‚ÅÝ‚Äîand they won‚Äôt take it easy. They‚Äôll rehearse all right‚ÅÝ‚Äîoh yes‚ÅÝ‚Äîquite all right. When it comes to the night, all of a dither. What happens? Say a wrong sheet o‚Äô music is slipped in‚ÅÝ‚Äîa wrong sheet, that‚Äôs all.‚Äù He looked sternly down at Miss Thong.
“Well, fancy!” said Miss Thong, who evidently felt that something was expected of her.
‚ÄúIt‚Äôs a thing,‚Äù said Unkerlarthur, still looking stern, ‚Äúthat happens many a time. Where are they? These fellers that won‚Äôt take it easy, I mean. Where are they? They‚Äôre lost, finished‚ÅÝ‚Äîcan‚Äôt find the right sheet‚ÅÝ‚Äîcan‚Äôt pick up the cues‚ÅÝ‚Äîand bang goes the part! And all ‚Äôcos they won‚Äôt take it easy.‚Äù
“So there you are, Miss Thong,” said Miss Trant, smiling at her.
But Miss Thong did not stand rebuked. “You’ve no idea,” she told them both, “what a treat it is to me to hear all these things about the theatre. And then seeing you all too, close to!”
“They’re sitting down,” said Unkerlarthur, who promptly prepared to sit down himself.
“You must sit next to me,” said Miss Trant, “unless you’ve arranged to sit somewhere.”
“D’you think I could? Don’t you think they’d mind?” Miss Thong’s long witchlike nose flushed with pleasure. “If I got between two of these big ones, they’d only see the top of my head, wouldn’t they? Do you think they’d mind if we sat here?”
So Miss Trant and Miss Thong sat together, and the latter chattered, gasped, ate, drank, coughed, and laughed so much that it was a wonder she did not shake what remained of her entirely to pieces. The Good Companions were scattered round both sides of the long table. Mr.¬ÝOakroyd sat with his friend, Mr.¬ÝCampbell, who was now looking very wary, as if something very strange might suddenly pop out of the great meat pie just in front of him. Mrs.¬ÝJoe was very stately, and looked well, flanked as she was by two reddish shining Dulvers. The tall figure of Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham was to be seen at one end of the table, among the important people. Two young female Dulvers, all gold and pink, were attending to Jerry Jerningham, whose accent was now so fantastic that many of the older guests were under the impression he was a foreigner. Inigo had tried hard to find a place by the side of his adored Susie, having had quite enough of the barren policy of pretending to avoid her; but he had not been successful. A very dashing young Dulver had carried her off and safely wedged her between his attentive self and the gigantic purple Dulver. This fellow had been hanging round her ever since they arrived, and Susie did not seem to mind at all. Indeed, she seemed to like his society‚ÅÝ‚Äîa fellow of a type that Inigo had always detested‚ÅÝ‚Äîa loud, brainless, teethy, pink ass, absolutely. It was incredible that Susie should be amused for more than five minutes by such a grinning idiot. If she was not pretending, he concluded, then there must be a vulgar streak in her somewhere. Impossible that a man could really be in love with a girl if he could think about vulgar streaks in this way. If he could only hold on to that vulgar streak, he would soon feel wonderfully detached. Meanwhile, he would show her that it did not matter to him if she spent her time giggling with fifty appalling young Dulvers.
For some reason, which Mrs.¬ÝJoe and Susie said was known only to the deity, Miss Mamie Potter had been invited. Miss Potter was there at Inigo‚Äôs elbow, and was only too pleased to keep him company throughout the feast. He did not dislike Miss Potter as heartily as most of the others did, but he had no great opinion of her and he could not understand why she seemed so anxious for his company. There were plenty of young Dulvers there eager to wait upon her, and why she should prefer him, as she so obviously did, was a mystery. But for the last day or two she had been very gracious to him. It was very odd. However, there it was, and now he tried hard to amuse her and to look as if he had no other object in life than to keep her amused. Miss Potter did not exactly smile upon his efforts because she hardly ever smiled; her features were so circular that smiling was difficult; but at least she contrived to modify that insufferable look of faint astonishment when she glanced his way. She also contrived, while appearing to taste one or two things merely for appearance‚Äô sake, to put away a good deal of food and several large glasses of the sweet champagne.
When they had all finished eating, the gigantic purple Dulver suddenly arose and held up his glass. ‚ÄúNow then, ladies and gentlemen,‚Äù he boomed, ‚ÄúI give you the ‚Äôappy pair. May they never regret this day. I‚Äôve regretted mine sometimes.‚Äù Laughter, and a cry of ‚ÄúNow then, Walter!‚Äù from an equally gigantic and almost as purple female. ‚ÄúAnd so has the wife, though from what she just shouted at me, you mightn‚Äôt think it. ‚ÄôOwever, that‚Äôs always blown over. When I ‚Äôave regretted it, ladies and gentlemen, I‚Äôve always found afterwards I was a bit below par at the time.‚Äù Laughter and applause. ‚ÄúIt was a ‚Äôappy day for me, and, if you ask me, this will be a ‚Äôappy day for Bert. Until today, Mrs.¬ÝBert was a stranger to most of us, but we can see by the look of her she‚Äôs going to make him ‚Äôappy. And if she hasn‚Äôt got a good husband, then I don‚Äôt know where you‚Äôre going to find ‚Äôem, that‚Äôs all I have to say. Here‚Äôs the best to ‚Äôem both.‚Äù And the toast was drunk with enthusiasm.
Bert, called upon to reply, said that he had nothing to say, and by rights shouldn’t be there at all. He was a married man now, and perhaps the less he said the better. (Cries of “Shame!” and “Quite right!”) But he would just like to say this. He had not always been lucky picking out winners. (Laughter, and “What about Sporty Boy?” from the dashing young Dulver who had attached himself to Susie.) But this time he was sure he had got a winner all right. (Applause, and “Then put your shirt on it, my boy,” from the purple Dulver, followed by screams of expostulation and laughter from the ladies.) And they knew, he hoped, they were all welcome to come and have a look at them down at Eastbeach.
It was evidently felt by the company that it was time now for somebody belonging to the bride‚Äôs party to make a speech. As Unkerlarthur was the only male relative, people looked at him, and after pretending for a minute or two that he had not seen them, Unkerlarthur was compelled to struggle to his feet and address the company. ‚ÄúWell, I don‚Äôt know,‚Äù he remarked, feeling the end of his nose as if he were not sure it was still there. ‚ÄúThis is right out o‚Äô my line. I might play a bit of it if I‚Äôd the old trombone here. Anyhow, I‚Äôm only the bride‚Äôs uncle, and it‚Äôs a long while since she took any notice o‚Äô me. But our Elsie‚Äôs always been a clever and‚ÅÝ‚Äîwhat‚Äôs better still‚ÅÝ‚Äîa good girl. I can see she‚Äôs got a good husband‚ÅÝ‚Äîas husbands go. And if she doesn‚Äôt make him a good wife, then I don‚Äôt know what he wants‚ÅÝ‚Äîand he doesn‚Äôt, neither. So we‚Äôll just fill up again, and I‚Äôll say‚ÅÝ‚Äîhere‚Äôs to ‚Äôem.‚Äù
This was felt to be sound but not entirely adequate, and now Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham rose both to his feet and the occasion. Two-thirds of the people there had not the slightest idea who he was, but he looked so imposing that immediately an awed silence fell on the company. He began by announcing that he felt very diffident, though it was difficult for the keenest observer to detect the slightest signs of diffidence. He felt however, he went on to say, that it was his duty, as a fellow-artiste, to say something about Mrs.¬ÝHerbert Dulver, long known to the Profession as Miss Elsie Longstaff. They had been on the road together, a remark that brought an enthusiastic ‚ÄúThat‚Äôs right,‚Äù from Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, who was beaming upon everybody. Mr.¬ÝMitcham then proceded to develop this theme of comradeship upon the road. Like the born orator he was, he had the trick of making everything appear about ten times life-size, and very soon it seemed as if he and Elsie had been on the road together, the best of friends, for about half a century. You saw them traversing continents, deafened by the applause of whole nations. The fate of the English Stage was bound up, it appeared, with the history of the Good Companions, a history that was already a gigantic epic. Through his haze of sonorous words, the figures of Miss Trant and Inigo and the other Good Companions loomed titanically. The departure of Elsie was conjured into a thunderbolt from the malicious gods, and you felt the earth shaking beneath its impact. All was gloom for a short space, but then the heavens brightened again. Apparently this marriage was the only thing that could possibly have enabled Mr.¬ÝMitcham to bear up under the sorrow of losing Elsie. You gathered that it was an event to which he had been looking forward for years. And Mr.¬ÝDulver was the one man in the world, it appeared, worthy of playing the chief part in it. He had the highest opinion of Mr.¬ÝDulver, whom he had known intimately‚ÅÝ‚Äîor so he made it seem‚ÅÝ‚Äîfor at least ten years. And now, not only for himself, not only for his fellow-members of the troupe, not only for the whole Profession, but on behalf of all these and of the audiences here, there, and everywhere, that had taken Miss Elsie Longstaff to their hearts, he wished them every happiness and drank their very good health. This he did, amid applause and clinking of glasses, in what appeared to be about half a pint of almost neat whisky, which went to join a good deal more of the same liquor. It was this noble draught that inspired him to rise again and point out that these were the sentiments of a man who had been four times round the world.
Elsie, flushed with pride, happiness, and the sweet champagne, and already looking more of a Dulver, was compelled to respond. She told them she had had good times and bad times on the Stage, but mostly good times lately. At this point, her sister Effie suddenly and very dramatically burst into tears. When Effie had subsided a little, Elsie went on to say that she did not expect to have all good times now she was married, but felt sure she and Bert would be a happy pair, and she would do her best. And all of them had been very kind and nice, and she thanked them and hoped to see them all again before very long. All the presents, she added, were beautiful. (“And so they are!” from Miss Thong.) And now she and Bert would have to be going, because they were catching the afternoon train down to Eastbeach.
Then followed any amount of handshaking, back-slapping, and kissing. Everybody trooped below to give the pair a good send-off, and the final scene outside the hotel when the two drove away and the whole company gave three cheers, under the joint leadership of the gigantic purple Dulver and Mr.¬ÝMorton Mitcham, was so striking that Mrs.¬ÝJoe, tearful but enraptured, said she had seen nothing like it since the finale to the second act of The Rose of Belgravia in which she and Joe, as a chambermaid and an ostler respectively, had sung side-by-side for the first time. By this time little Miss Thong had had so much excitement that she looked blue and her teeth were chattering, so Miss Trant packed her into her car and took her back to Gatford, there to rest and have a quiet cup of tea, A few of the other guests also departed. The remainder went upstairs, some to talk, smoke, and finish the bottle, some to dance.
‚ÄúChanges, ladies and gentlemen,‚Äù roared Mr.¬ÝMitcham, as he reached the landing again. ‚ÄúBound to come, bound to come. I know. I‚Äôve seen‚ÅÝ‚Äîeh‚ÅÝ‚Äîthousands of ‚Äôem. Very sad, but can‚Äôt be helped‚ÅÝ‚Äîin‚Äëev‚Äëit‚Äëable.‚Äù
“You’ve said it,” cried Jimmy.
‚ÄúThank you,‚Äù he replied, simply but with great dignity, and then lit a very large cigar that had been pressed upon him by an admiring Dulver. He and Jimmy and one or two others of vast experience formed a circle, while another was formed by several football-loving Dulvers and Joe, Mr.¬ÝOakroyd, and Mr.¬ÝJock Campbell, who obliged by demonstrating, with the aid of a bottle and two glasses and an ashtray, exactly what happened when Everton scored that curious goal against Sheffield Wednesday and so won the Cup. And in various corners, the ladies, among whom Mrs.¬ÝJoe was prominent, discussed weddings they had seen and married couples they had known, and happily swapped reminiscences in which obstetrics, accidents, operations, various internal disorders, and deaths of every description, played their part.
There was dancing in the other room. This would not be worth mentioning if it were not for the fact that Susie and the dashing young Dulver danced together all the time. Inigo was left with Miss Mamie Potter, whose beautiful and extraordinarily intelligent legs enabled him to make a fair show of what was certainly not one of his major accomplishments. The dashing young Dulver could hardly be described as a good dancer‚ÅÝ‚Äîhe threw himself about too much to be that‚ÅÝ‚Äîbut he was at least energetic and knowing, and therefore better than Inigo. There was one awful moment when Inigo imagined he caught a smile of derision on the faces of Susie and her insufferable partner. They were grinning at him! After that he held Miss Potter so close and threw such energy into his dancing that she had hardly breath enough to bring out her usual ‚ÄúI say.‚Äù When at last their bus came and it was time to go, Susie was not to be seen and neither was her cavalier, and it was reported that he had taken her back to Gatford. ‚ÄúI say,‚Äù said Miss Potter, ‚ÄúI don‚Äôt admire her taste. I thought he was ghastly, didn‚Äôt you?‚Äù And so he and Miss Potter sat in the back of the bus, close together, and Inigo, his head a multicoloured whirl of drinks and dancing and gloom and gaiety, decided that he liked Mamie after all and that when they reached the end of the journey he would kiss her. But by the time they were back in Gatford, the gloom was spreading and his head ached a little and life seemed rather dreary and preposterous, and so instead of kissing Miss Potter he hurried away to his rooms, to rest for an hour or two before the show began. At the end of that hour or two he had decided that he must have it out with Susie.
‚ÄúThis can‚Äôt go on,‚Äù he told himself‚ÅÝ‚Äîand her‚ÅÝ‚Äîsternly, as he brushed his hair and conjured his reflection into an image of a startled Susie. ‚ÄúIf you think I‚Äôm a man to be played with, you‚Äôre wrong, absolutely.‚Äù No, that sounded ridiculous. Something cool and sneering might be better. ‚ÄúI must congratulate you on your friends. I am beginning to wonder whether the honour of being considered one of them will not be too great a strain for me‚ÅÝ‚Äî‚Äù No, that would not do, either. ‚ÄúLook here, Susie, I‚Äôve had enough of this,‚Äù with quiet but manly determination. Anyhow, he would have it out with her.