So diamonds, emeralds and rubies jostled one another on her fingers; four or five expensive bangles clinked on each of her wrists; and a superb double row of pearls knocked against diamond clips, and a huge brooch, rather like a breastplate, on her bosom. A strong aroma of scent enveloped her like an ambrosial cloud; but these somewhat repelling features were in a great measure counteracted by the honesty of her smile, and the real kindliness that obviously underlay her extravagances.
She stood in awe of Mrs. Bawtry, and was very ready to let Mary bear the burden of conversation with that brisk, bright-eyed, little matron. On the other hand, Tom Bawtry, a big bluff man of no great brain, but immense good nature, was a creature quite after her own heart. He laughed readily, and had often, in the past, annoyed his wife by describing Ermyntrude as a damned fine figure of a woman. Being a hunting-man, his strictures on any irregularities of dress in the field were sweeping and severe, but as Ermyntrude had never been on a horse in her life, and Tom was quite uncritical of female garb out of the saddle, he saw nothing very much amiss either with her decolletage, or her jewellery, and was a good deal flattered by the deferential way in which she listened to anything he had to say.
"My dear, what England wants at this moment is more God-guided citizens," Connie Bawtry informed Mary energetically, as the Prince came into the room. "You've no idea what a difference it makes to you, once you become God-controlled.
Happily for Mary, Ermyntrude saved her from having to answer by introducing the Prince. Connie was not in the least interested in princes, whatever their nationality, but she saw in every new acquaintance a potential convert, and at once abandoned Mary for this fresh victim.
She was still telling him how Europe's troubles could be solved (without, apparently, any more human effort than was entailed by the subjugating of self to Divine Control), when the Derings were announced.
Lady Dering shook hands with her hostess in the friendly fashion that always soothed Ermyntrude's unhappy sense of inferiority, and passed on to Wally, who was still brooding over the morning's mishap. As she had heard all about it from Hugh, she at once congratulated him on his escape from death, and listened with assuaging sympathy to his own rambling account of the affair.
Sir William, who wore the parboiled look of a gentleman dragged out to dinner against his will, frightened Ermyntrude with the punctiliousness of his manners; and Hugh gravitated to where Mary was standing, and at once demanded to be told why the notorious Miss Fanshawe was not present.
"She's going to make an Entrance," replied Mary gloomily. "I had one or two things to see to after I'd changed, so I hadn't time to find out what her role is for tonight. She was a femme fatale last night, but I shouldn't thinkk she'll repeat herself quite so'soon."
She was right. Vicky, entering the room five minutes later, was dressed in a wispy frock of startling design, and still more startling abbreviations. She displayed, without reserve, a remarkably pretty back, her frock being suspended round her neck by a plait of the material of which it was made. Her curls stood out in a bunch in the nape of her neck, but were swept severely off her brow and temples. A diamond bracelet, begged from Ermyntrude's collection, encircled one ankle under a filmy stocking, and her naturally long lashes were ruthlessly tinted with blue.
"One of the Younger Set," said Mary knowledgeably.
"So sorry if I've kept anybody waiting!" said Vicky. "Oh, how do you do, Lady Dering? How do you do, everybody? Oh, is that sherry? How filthy! No, I'll have a White Lady thank you."
"Good Lord!" murmured Hugh, taken aback.
Sir William was also startled, but when Vicky smiled at him, rather in the manner of an engaging street urchin, his countenance relaxed slightly, and he asked her what she was doing with herself now that she had come home to live.
"Well, it all depends," she replied seriously.
Sir William had no daughters, but only his memories of his sisters to guide him, so he said that he had no doubt she was a great help to her mother, arranging flowers, and that kind of thing.
"Oh no, only if it's that sort of a day!" said Vicky.
Sir William was still turning this remark over in his mind when the butler came in to announce that dinner was served. He found it so incomprehensible that presently, when he had taken a seat at Ermyntrude's right hand in the dining-room and found that Vicky had been placed on his other side, he inquired what she had meant by it.
"Well," said Vicky confidingly, "I don't always feel Edwardian: in fact, practically never."
"Indeed! May I ask if helping one's mother is now thought to be an Edwardian habit?"
"Oh yes, definitely!" Vicky assured him.
"I am afraid I am sadly behind the times. Perhaps you are one of these young women who follow careers of their own?"
"It's so difficult to make up one's mind," said Vicky, shaking sugar over her melon. "Sometimes I think I should like to go on the stage, and then I think perhaps not, on account of boarding-houses, and travelling about in trains, which makes me sick. And I do rather feel that it might be awfully exhausting, living for one's art. It's a bit like having a Mission in Life, which sounds grand, but really isn't much fun, as far as I can make out."
"All striving after art, and personal careers must go to the wall," announced Mrs. Bawtry, who happened to have been silent for long enough to have overheard some part of this interchange. "The only things that count are Absolute Truth, and Absolute Love."
"Dear Connie, not absolute truth, surely?" demurred Lady Dering. "It wouldn't be at all comfortable, besides often becoming quite impossible."
"If only you would become God-controlled you'd find how easy everything is!" said Mrs. Bawtry earnestly.
"I saw a play once about speaking nothing but the truth," remarked Wally. "I remember I laughed a lot. It was very well done. Very funny indeed."
"A great many people," said Mrs. Bawtry, who had her own way of forcing any conversation back to the channel of her choosing, "think that if you belong to the Group you have to become deadly serious. But that's utterly false, and if ever you come to one of our House-Parties you'll see how jolly religion can be."
Wally looked a good deal surprised by this, and said dubiously: "Well, I dare say you know best, but all I can say is, it never seemed jolly to me."
"That's because you haven't been Changed!" said Mrs. Bawtry. "Why don't you throw off all your foolish inhibitions, and join the march of the Christian revolution?"
Sir William had been trying to shut out the sound of this painful conversation by talking to his hostess, but these last words, uttered, as they were, in triumphant accents, made him break off what he was saying to demand: "Christian what?"
"Christian revolution!" repeated Mrs. Bawtry, unabashed. "Our God-confident armies are marching to rout the troops of chaos, and moral-rot."
"Here, I say, Connie!" protested her husband uncomfortably. "Steady on!"
Hugh, who was seated between Connie Bawtry and Vicky, rather sacrificingly drew Connie's fire. "I went to one of your meetings once," he said.
"You did? I'm so glad!" Connie said enthusiastically. "Now, tell me, what did you think of it?"
"Well," said Hugh, "I was rather disappointed."
"Disappointed!"
"Yes," he said, helping himself from the dish that was being offered to him. "There seemed to me to be a depressing lack of spirituality about the whole proceeding. A lot of people got up one by one to address the meeting, but, without wanting to be offensive, Connie, I honestly couldn't see that they had any kind of message for us. What some of the members seemed to me to be suffering from was spiritual conceit in an aggravated form."