And she followed him out--whether straight to bed or not I don't know.
Kitty and I followed shortly afterwards.
And now that I've got to this Woburn Place portion of my story I may as
well, while I am about it, skip the two intervening days and come to the
evening of Archie Merridew's birthday.
Thursday was not in any case one of Evie's class evenings, and on that
Thursday she must have been very busy indeed. We were to go to supper at
eight; and as the routine of the boarding house did not provide for
private entertainments the aunt and niece had had all to do themselves.
The supper was therefore of necessity cold, with the exception of some
hot soup, which I suspect to have been heated over a bedroom fire; and
for the furnishing of the round table with the pink-shaded lamp Miss
Angela had rummaged in drawers and trunks and bundles, with notable
results. White heavy plates with the name of the boarding house
contained within an oval garter were set between common knives and
delicate and worn old silver forks and spoons, really beautiful glass
finger-bowls stood on straw mats with a circular hole in the middle; and
a long slender-handled punch-ladle stuck up out of the cheap earthenware
jug full of home-made lemonade.
I suspect, too, that Evie had changed her mind a dozen times about the
height of her dress at the neck; and probably her aunt's guidance had
led her finally, since she had no special dress for the evening, to
reject the compromise of altering her blouse to an intermediate =V=. Her
dark hair had been newly washed. A softer lace than Kitty Windus' came
quite up to her ears, and Miss Angela had lent her a pearl ring, which
seemed to be mutely asking to be transferred to the finger next to the
one on which she wore it. She was in white, with a longer skirt than
usual; Miss Angela wore the old grey and Indian silk shawl she always
wore; and Kitty looked prettier than I have ever seen her in a spotted
blue foulard (I think I have that right) with wonderfully crimped
sleeves and a cameo brooch at her rather wiry throat.
She and I arrived before Archie, who, indeed, was a full quarter of an
hour late. When he did turn up, there mingled with his apologies the
bumptious assumption of ease with which he sought to make a joke of his
negligence. He came in noisily, as if he intended to make the party a
success out of hand; and before he had been in the room half-a-minute a
whiff told me what I had instantly surmised from the brightness of his
eyes--that he had been drinking sherry and bitters already.
"Thanks, Aunt Angela--but that's not all, I hope!" he cried, as Miss
Angela wished him many happy returns of the day.
And he skipped to her, passed his arm about her waist, and kissed her.
"Hope you won't mind for once, Jeff," he went on, dancing to Kitty
Windus. Kitty both stiffened rigidly and flushed with excitement as he
kissed her also on the cheek-bone.
"Here--I'm going all round now--where's Evie?" he demanded.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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