“Has he talked to you about it?” asked Sir Peter, incredulously.
“I don’t need talk,” said Lady Staines. “I judge by facts. Winn goes to church regularly, his temper is execrable, and he takes long walks by himself. A satisfied man is neither irate nor religious – and has nothing to walk off. Consequently it’s a virtuous attachment. That’s serious, because it will lead to the divorce court. Virtues generally lead to somebody trying to get out of something.”
“Pooh!” Sir Peter grunted. “You’ve got that out of some damned French novel. You must have virtue, the place has got to be kept up somehow, hasn’t it? If what you say is true – and I don’t for a moment admit a word of it – I don’t see how you’re going to sugar things over with a couple of hundred people trampling up my lawn?”
“Estelle likes people,” Lady Staines replied. “My idea is to make her a success. I will introduce her to everybody worth knowing. I’ll get some of our people down from town. They’ll hate it, of course; but they’ll be curious to see what’s up. Of course they won’t see anything. At the end of the day, if it’s all gone off well – I’ll have a little talk with Estelle. I shall tell her first what I think of her; and then I shall offer to back her if she’ll turn over a new leaf. Winn’ll do his part for the sake of the boy, if she meets him half way. I give religion its due – he wants to do his duty, only he doesn’t see what it is. He must live with his wife. His prayers will come in nicely afterwards.”
Sir Peter chuckled. “There’s something in your idea, Sarah,” he admitted. “But it’s a damned expensive process. All my strawberries will go. And if it rains, everybody’ll come into the house and scuttle over my library like so many rabbits.”
“I’ll keep them out of the library,” said Lady Staines, rising, “and I shall want a hundred pounds.”
She left the library after a short series of explosions, with a check for seventy-five. She had only expected fifty.
The garden party was, if not a great success, at least a great crowd.
The village was entertained by sports in a field, backed by beer in tents, and overseen by Winn with the delighted assistance of the younger Peter.
Lady Staines, in stiff purple satin, strode uncomfortably up and down herbaceous borders, exposing the ignorance of her fellow gardeners by a series of ruthless questions.
Charles and James, who had put in an intermittent appearance in the hope of a loan from Sir Peter, did their best to make things go. Charles had brought down a bull terrier, and the bull terrier brought down, first one of the donkeys that was to take part in the sports, but was permanently incapacitated from any further participation either in sport or labor, then two pet lap dogs, in a couple of sharp shakes on the lawn, and crowned his career of murder with the stable cat, in an outhouse where Charles had at last incontinently and a little inconsiderately, as far as the cat was concerned, flung him.
Isabel and her husband had driven over from a neighboring parish.
Isabel liked garden parties. She made her way at once to a group of clergy, her husband dangling meekly in her rear; and then told them in her quarter deck style exactly what she thought ought to be done with their parishes. Sir Peter remained in the library with the windows open and his eye upon passing clouds.
Several of his friends joined him, and they talked about Ulster.
Everybody was at this time talking about Ulster.
Most of them spoke of it as people talk of a tidal wave in China. They did not exactly wish the wave to destroy the whole of China, but they would all have felt a little annoyed if it had withdrawn without drowning anybody.
“The Government has been weak,” said Sir Peter sternly; “as weak as a soft-boiled egg! What Ireland wants is a firm hand, and if that’s not enough, a swift kick after it! Concession! Who wants concessions? A sensible man doesn’t make concessions unless he’s trying to bluff you into thinking he’s got what he hasn’t got, or is getting out of you what he hasn’t right to get!
“But people oughtn’t to import arms. I’ll go as far as that! It’s against discipline. Whether it’s one side or the other, it ought to be stopped.
“There’ll be a row, of course – a healthy, blood-letting hell of a row, and we shall all be the better for it! But I don’t approve of firearms being let loose all over the place – it’s un-English. It only shows what the poor devils at Ulster must have suffered, and be afraid of suffering, to resort to it! That sort of thing is all very well in the Balkans. My son Winn’s been talking about the Balkans lately – kind of thing the army’s always getting gas off about! What I say is – let ’em fight! They got the Turk down once, all of ’em together, and he was the only person that could keep ’em in hand. Now I hear Austria wants to start trouble in Serbia because of that assassination in June. What they want to make a fuss about assassination in that family for I can’t think! I should look upon it as an hereditary disease and leave it at that! But don’t tell me it’s anything to worry about compared to Ulster. What’s the danger of a country that talks thirteen languages, has no non-commissioned officers, and always gets beat when it fights? Sarah! Sarah! Get the people in for tea. Can’t you see there’s a shower coming? Damn it all! And my second crop of hay’s not in yet! That’s what comes of giving garden parties. Of course I’m very glad to see you all, but you know what I mean. No shilly-shallying with the English climate’s my motto – it’s the only dangerous thing we’ve got!”
Lady Staines disregarded this admonition. The light clouds above the elms puffed idly in the heavy air. It was a hot bright day, murmurous with bees and the idle, half notes of midsummer birds.
Estelle, in the most diaphanous of blue muslins, held a little court under a gigantic mulberry tree. She had always intended marriage with a Staines to be like this.
Winn was nowhere to be seen, and his mother plodded patiently to and fro across the lawn, bringing a line of distinguished visitors to be introduced to her.
They were kind, curt people who looked at Estelle rather hard, and asked her absurd questions about Winn’s regiment, Sir Peter’s ships, and her baby. They had no general ideas, but however difficult they were to talk to, Estelle knew they were the right people to meet – she had seen their names in magazines. None of her own family were there; they had all been invited, but Estelle had preferred their remaining at home. She had once heard Sir Peter refer to her father as “Old Moneybags.” He had apologized afterwards, but he might do it again.
Lady Staines was the only person who noticed the arrival of two telegrams – they were taken to Charles and James, who were at that moment in the refreshment tent opposite the claret cup. The telegrams arrived simultaneously, and Charles said, “Good Lord!” and James said, “My hat!” when they read the contents, with every symptom of surprise and pleasure.
“I shouldn’t have supposed,” Lady Staines thought to herself, “that two of my boys would have backed the same horse. It must be a coincidence.”
They put the telegrams rather carefully away, and shortly afterwards she observed that they had set off together in the direction of the village sports.
The long golden twilight drew to a close, the swallows swooped and circled above the heavy, darkened elms. The flowers in the long herbaceous borders had a fragile look in the colorless soft air.
The garden party drifted slowly away.