Some Do Not . . ._ A Novel - Ford Madox Ford [127]
The etiquette of the place on Fridays was regulated as if by a royal protocol. The most distinguished and, if possible, titled person was led to a great walnut wood fluted chair that stood askew by the fire-place, its back and seat of blue velvet, heaven knows how old. Over him would hover Mrs Duchemin: or, if he were very distinguished, both Mr and Mrs Macmaster. The not so distinguished were led up by turns to be presented to the celebrity and would then arrange themselves in a half-circle in the beautiful arm-chairs; the less distinguished still, in outer groups in chairs that had no arms; the almost undistinguished stood, also in groups, or languished, awe-struck, on the scarlet leather window seats. When all were there Macmaster would establish himself on the incredibly unique hearthrug and would address wise sayings to the celebrity; occasionally, however, saying a kind thing to the youngest man present--to give him a chance of distinguishing himself. Macmaster's hair, at that date, was still black, but not quite so stiff or so well brushed; his beard had in it greyish streaks, and his teeth, not being quite so white, looked less strong. He wore also a single eyeglass, the retaining of which in his right eye gave him a slightly agonised expression. It gave him, however, the privilege of putting his face very close to the face of anyone upon whom he wished to make a deep impression. He had lately become much interested in the drama, so that there were usually several large--and, of course, very reputable and serious--actresses in the room. On rare occasions Mrs Duchemin would say across the room in her deep voice:
'Valentine, a cup of tea for his highness,' or 'Sir Thomas,' as the case might be, and when Valentine had threaded her way through the chairs with a cup of tea, Mrs Duchemin, with a kind, aloof smile, would say: 'Your highness, this is my little brown bird.' But as a rule Valentine sat alone at the tea-table, the guests fetching from her what they wanted.
Tietjens came to the Fridays twice during the five months of his stay at Ealing. On each occasion he accompanied Mrs Wannop.
In earlier days--during the earliest Fridays--Mrs Wannop, if she ever came, had always been installed, with her flowing black, in the throne and, like an enlarged Queen Victoria, had sat there whilst suppliants were led up to this great writer. But now: on the first occasion Mrs Wannop got a chair without arms in the outer ring, whilst a general officer commanding lately in chief somewhere in the East whose military success had not been considered, but whose despatches were considered very literary, occupied, rather blazingly, the throne. But Mrs Wannop had chatted very contentedly all the afternoon with Tietjens, and it had been comforting to Valentine to see Tietjens' large, uncouth, but quite collected figure, and to observe the affection that these two had for each other.
But, on the second occasion, the throne was occupied by a very young woman who talked a great deal and with great assurance. Valentine didn't know who she was. Mrs Wannop, very gay and distracted, stood nearly the whole afternoon by a window. And even at that, Valentine was contented, quite a number of young men crowding round the old lady and leaving the younger one's circle rather bare.
There came in a very tall, clean-run and beautiful, fair woman, dressed in nothing in particular. She stood with extreme--with noticeable--unconcern near the doorway. She let her eyes rest on Valentine, but looked away before Valentine could speak. She must have had an enormous quantity of fair tawny hair, for it was coiled in a great surface over her ears. She had in her hand several visiting cards which she looked at with a puzzled expression and then laid on a card table. She was no one who had ever been there before.