“Let’s go and dress,” said Miriam, rolling off the table. 13 “How many times has she met him?” asked Miriam as they went through the hall. “I dunno. Not many.” “I think it’s simply hateful.” “Mimmy!” It was Nan’s insinuating voice. “Coming,” called Miriam. “And, you know, Tommy needn’t think he can carry on with _Meg_ in an alcove.” “_What_ would she think? Let’s go and tell Meg she must dress.” “Mimmy!” Miriam went back and put her head round the breakfast-room door. “Let me see you when you’re dressed.” “Why?” “I want to kiss the back of your neck, my dear; love kissing people’s necks.” Miriam smiled herself vaguely out of the room, putting away the unpleasant suggestion. “I wish I’d got a dress like Nan’s,” she said, joining Harriett in the dark lobby. “I say, somebody’s been using the ‘Financial Times’ to cut up flowers on. It’s all wet.” Harriett lifted the limp newspaper from the marble-topped coil of pipes and shook it. “Hang it up somewhere.” “Where? Everything’s cleared up.” “Stick it out of the lavatory window and pull the window down on it.” “Awri, you hold the door open.” Miriam laughed as Harriett fell into the room. “Blooming boot-jack.” “Is it all right in there? Are all the pegs clear? Is the washing-basin all right?” A faint light came in as Harriett pushed up the frosted pane. “Here’s a pair of boots all over the floor and your old Zulu hat hanging on a peg. The basin’s all right except a perfectly foul smell of nicotine. It’s pater’s old feather.” “That doesn’t matter. The men won’t mind that. My old hat can stay. There are ten pegs out here and all the slab, and there’s hardly anything on the hall stand. That’s it. Don’t cram the window down so as to cut the paper. That’ll do. Come on.” “I wish I had a really stunning dress,” remarked Miriam, as they tapped across the wide hall. “You needn’t.” The drawing-room door was open. They surveyed the sea of drugget, dark grey in the fading light. “_Pong_-pong-_pong_ de doodle, _pong_-pong-_pong_ de doodle,” murmured Miriam as they stood swaying on tiptoe in the doorway. “Let’s have the gas and _two_ candlesticks, Harry, on the dressing-table under the gas.” “All right,” mouthed Harriett in a stage whisper, making for the stairs as the breakfast-room door opened. It was Eve. “I say, Eve, I’m _scared_,” said Miriam, meeting her. Eve giggled triumphantly. “Look here. I shan’t come down at first. I’ll play the first dance. I’ll get them all started with ‘Bitter-Sweet.’” “Don’t worry, Mim.” “My _dear_, I simply don’t know how to face the evening.” “You do,” murmured Eve. “You are proud.” “What of?” “You know quite well.” “What?” “He’s the nicest boy we know.” “But he’s not my boy. Of course not. You’re insane. Besides, I don’t know who you’re talking about.” “Oh, well, we won’t talk. We’ll go and arrange your chignon.” “I’m going to have simply twists and perhaps a hair ornament.”