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By Root 11432 0

’t sleep with husbands; she only talked to them. Still, they did do a lot of talking; there was no doubt of that. And wives had been jealous. Elinor’s ingenuous confidingness had piqued her into being more than ordinarily gracious to Philip. But he had started to go round the world before much conversation had taken place. The talk, she ‘anticipated, would be agreeably renewed on his return. Poor Elinor, she thought pityingly. Her feelings might have been a little less Christian, if she had realized that poor Elinor had noticed the admiring look in Philip’s eye even before Molly had noticed it herself, and, noticing, had conscientiously proceeded to act the part of dragoman and go-between. Not that she had much hope or fear that Molly would achieve the transforming miracle. One does not fall very desperately in love with a loud speaker, however pretty, however firmly plump (for Philip’s tastes were rather old-fashioned), however attractively callipygous. Her only hope was that the passions aroused by the plumpness and prettiness would be so very inadequately satisfied by the talking (for talk was all, according to report, that Molly ever conceded) that poor Philip would be reduced to a state of rage and misery most conducive to good writing.

‘But of course,’ Molly went on, ‘intelligence ought never to marry intelligence. That’s why Jean is always threatening to divorce me. He says I’m too stimulating. “Tu ne m’ennuies pas assez,” he says; and that what he needs is une femme sedative. And I believe he’s really right. Philip Quarles has been wise. Imagine an intelligent fairy of a man like Philip married to an equally fairyish intelligent woman—Lucy Tantamount, for example. It would be a disaster, don’t you think? ‘

‘Lucy’d be rather a disaster for any man, wouldn’t she, fairy or no fairy? ‘

‘No, I must say, I like Lucy.’ Molly turned to her inner store-house of Theophrastian phrases

‘I like the way she floats through life instead of trudging. I like the way she flits from flower to flower—which is perhaps a rather too botanical and poetical description of Bentley and Jim Conklin and poor Reggie Tantamount and Maurice Spandrell and Tom Trivet and Poniatovsky and that young Frenchman who writes plays, what is his name? and the various others one has forgotten or never heard about.’ Burlap smiled; they all smiled at this passage. ‘Anyhow, she flits. Doing a good deal of damage to the flowers, I must admit.’ Burlap smiled again. ‘But getting nothing but fun out of it herself. I must say, I rather envy her. I wish I were a fairy and could float.’

‘She has much more reason to envy you,’ said Burlap, looking deep, subtle and Christian once more, and wagging his head.

‘Envy me for being unhappy? ‘

‘Who’s unhappy? ‘ asked Lady Edward breaking in on them at this moment. ‘Good evening, Mr. Burlap,’ she went on without waiting for an answer. Burlap told her how much he had enjoyed the music.

‘We were just talking about Lucy,’ said Molly d’Exergillod, interrupting him. ‘Agreeing that she was like a fairy. So light and detached.’

‘Fairy!’ repeated Lady Edward, emphatically rolling the ‘r’ far back in her throat.’she’s like a leprechaun. You’ve no idea, Mr. Burlap, how hard it is to bring up a leprechaun.’ Lady Edward shook her head.’she used really to frighten me sometimes.’

‘Did she?’ said Molly. ‘But I should have thought you were a bit of a fairy yourself, Lady Edward.’

‘A bit,’ Lady Edward admitted. ‘But never to the point of being a leprechaun.’

‘Well?’ said Lucy, as Walter sat down beside her in the cab. She seemed to be uttering a kind of challenge. ‘Well?’

The cab started. He lifted her hand and kissed it. It was his answer to her challenge. ‘I love you. That’s all.’

‘Do you, Walter?’ She turned towards him and, taking his face between her two hands, looked at him intently in the half-darkness

‘Do you? ‘ she repeated; and as she spoke, she shook her head slowly and smiled. Then, leaning forward, she kissed him on the mouth. Walter put his arms round her; but she disengaged herself from the embrace. ‘No, no,’ she protested and dropped back into her corner.