He was still hating this vacuity when the taxicab left him at Mrs. Ilden’s house in Chelsea. The butler told him that “Lady Ilden” was not at home and guided him through grey halls to a bedroom. Gurdy washed, tried to recall Ilden’s rank in the British navy and the name of Olive’s last novel. He strolled downstairs and met Margot in the lower hall without knowing it. He saw a slim person in stark yellow reading a letter and was startled when the girl said, “Good God, they didn’t tell me you’d got here! Come and help me stick this holly about in the library.” She thrust a bowl filled with small sprays of holly into his hands and frowned between the wings of her black, bobbed hair. He remembered her plump. She was slender. She still wore glittering pumps with silver buckles. When she chuckled it was in the former chime. She exclaimed, “Of course! Uncle Eddie was born in Norway, wasn’t he?” “I think dad was born in the steerage, coming over,” Gurdy said. “You’re not at all American, anyhow,” she announced, “and that’s a relief. I’m quite mad about Scandinavians. Only sensible people in Europe. Come along. There’s a rehearsal in half a minute and--” “Rehearsal?” “Charity show. Barge along. This way.” He grinned and followed her into the long library where she tossed bits of holly to and fro on the shelves. She said, “Cosmo Rand’s rehearsing us. Better not tell that to dad. He mightn’t like it.” “Who’s Cosmo?” “Cora Boyle’s husband. They’re playing here. Don’t get shocked about it.” “Don’t see anything to get shocked about. So Cora Boyle’s over here again? What’s she playing?” “A silly melodrama. She’s at the Diana. Saw her the other night. She’s getting fat. Ought to be a law against fat women wearing old rose.” “You’ve lost some weight,” Gurdy said. “Work, old thing, work! Sewing shirts for snipers. Dancing with convalescents.--It’s beastly you’ve got so tall. I hate looking up at men.” Gurdy laughed down at her and asked, “When did Mrs. Ilden get to be Lady Ilden?” “Jutland. It’s just the Bath, not a baronetcy. Olive’s at church.” “I thought she was agnostic?” Margot said gently, “It takes them that way, rather often. She’s been to church a goodish bit ever since Bobby--” “Oh, yes. Young Ilden was killed.--What sort of person was he?” “One of the silent, strong Empire builders--but nice about it.... Olive’s aged, rather.” She planted the last holly spray on the lap of a gilt Buddha then smiled at Gurdy across a yellow shoulder, “I’d forgotten how blue your eyes are. Almost violet. Goes with your hair. Very effective.... Your chin’s still too big.... Oh, a letter from Dad this morning. He was thinking of running over. But Carlson’s worse.... D’you know, it’d be a noble deed to poison Carlson. There he is stuck in the house. Why don’t useless people like that dry up and blow away?”