Bob, a dog of spirit, replied in kind.
Emily Arundell said ‘Bob!’ sharply and passed on.
In the greengrocer’s there was a meeting of heavenly bodies. Another old lady, spherical in outline, but equally distinguished by that air of royalty, said:
‘Mornin’, Emily.’
‘Good morning, Caroline.’
Caroline Peabody said:
‘Expecting any of your young people down?’
‘Yes, all of them. Theresa, Charles and Bella.’
‘So Bella’s home, is she? Husband too?’
‘Yes.’
It was a simple monosyllable, but underlying it was knowledge common to both ladies.
For Bella Biggs, Emily Arundell’s niece, had married a Greek. And Emily Arundell’s people, who were what is known as ‘all service people’, simply did not marry Greeks.
By way of being obscurely comforting (for of course such a matter could not be referred to openly) Miss Peabody said:
‘Bella’s husband’s got brains. And charming manners!’
‘His manners are delightful,’ agreed Miss Arundell.
Moving out into the street Miss Peabody asked:
‘What’s this about Theresa being engaged to young Donaldson?’
Miss Arundell shrugged her shoulders.
‘Young people are so casual nowadays. I’m afraid it will have to be a rather long engagement—that is, if anything comes of it. He has no money.’
‘Of course Theresa has her own money,’ said Miss Peabody.
Miss Arundell said stiffly:
‘A man could not possibly wish to live on his wife’s money.’
Miss Peabody gave a rich, throaty chuckle.
‘They don’t seem to mind doing it, nowadays. You and I are out of date, Emily. What I can’t understand is what the child sees in him. Of all the namby-pamby young men!’
‘He’s a clever doctor, I believe.’
‘Those pince-nez—and that stiff way of talking! In my young days we’d have called him a poor stick!’
There was a pause while Miss Peabody’s memory, diving into the past, conjured up visions of dashing, bewhiskered young men…
She said with a sigh:
‘Send that young dog Charles along to see me—if he’ll come.’
‘Of course. I’ll tell him.’
The two ladies parted.
They had known each other for considerably over fifty years. Miss Peabody knew of certain regrettable lapses in the life of General Arundell, Emily’s father. She knew just precisely what a shock Thomas Arundell’s marriage had been to his sisters. She had a very shrewd idea of certain troubles connected with the younger generation.
But no word had ever passed between the two ladies on any of these subjects. They were both upholders of family dignity, family solidarity, and complete reticence on family matters.
Miss Arundell walked home, Bob trotting sedately at her heels. To herself, Emily Arundell admitted what she would never have admitted to another human being, her dissatisfaction with the younger generation of her family.
Theresa, for instance. She had no control over Theresa since the latter had come into her own money at the age of twenty-one. Since then the girl had achieved a certain notoriety. Her picture was often in the papers. She belonged to a young, bright, go-ahead set in London—a set that had freak parties and occasionally ended up in the police courts. It was not the kind of notoriety that Emily Arundell approved of for an Arundell. In fact, she disapproved very much of Theresa’s way of living. As regards the girl’s engagement, her feelings were slightly confused. On the one hand she did not consider an upstart Dr Donaldson good enough for an Arundell. On the other she was uneasily conscious that Theresa was a most unsuitable wife for a quiet country doctor.
With a sigh her thoughts passed on to Bella. There was no fault to find with Bella. She was a good woman—a devoted wife and mother, quite exemplary in behaviour—and extremely dull! But even Bella could not be regarded with complete approval. For Bella had married a foreigner—and not only a foreigner—but a Greek. In Miss Arundell’s prejudiced mind a Greek was almost as bad as an Argentine or a Turk. The fact that Dr Tanios had a charming manner and was said to be extremely able in his profession only prejudiced the old lady slightly more against him. She distrusted charm and easy compliments. For this reason, too, she found it difficult to be fond of the two children. They had both taken after their father in looks—there was really nothing English about them.
And then Charles…
Yes, Charles…
It was no use blinding one’s eyes to facts. Charles, charming though he was, was not to be trusted…
Emily Arundell sighed. She felt suddenly tired, old, depressed…
She supposed that she couldn’t last much longer…
Her mind reverted to the will she had made some years ago.
Legacies to the servants—to charities—and the main bulk of her considerable fortune to be divided equally between these, her three surviving relations…
It still seemed to her that she had done the right and equitable thing. It just crossed her mind to wonder whether there might not be some way of securing Bella’s share of the money so that her husband could not touch it… She must ask Mr Purvis.
She turned in at the gate of Littlegreen House.
Charles and Theresa Arundell arrived by car—the Tanioses, by train.
The brother and sister arrived first. Charles, tall and good-looking, with his slightly mocking manner, said:
‘Hullo, Aunt Emily, how’s the girl? You look fine.’
And he kissed her.
Theresa put an indifferent young cheek against her withered one.
‘How are you, Aunt Emily?’
Theresa, her aunt thought, was looking far from well. Her face, beneath its plentiful make-up, was slightly haggard and there were lines round her eyes.
They had tea in the drawing-room. Bella Tanios, her hair inclined to straggle in wisps from below the fashionable hat that she wore at the wrong angle, stared at her cousin Theresa with a pathetic eagerness to assimilate and memorize her clothes. It was poor Bella’s fate in life to be passionately fond of clothes without having any clothes sense. Theresa’s clothes were expensive, slightly bizarre, and she herself had an exquisite figure.
Bella, when she arrived in England from Smyrna, had tried earnestly to copy Theresa’s elegance at an inferior price and cut.
Dr Tanios, who was a big bearded jolly looking man, was talking to Miss Arundell. His voice was warm and full—an attractive voice that charmed a listener almost against his or her will. Almost in spite of herself, it charmed Miss Arundell.
Miss Lawson was fidgeting a good deal. She jumped up and down, handing plates, fussing over the tea-table. Charles, whose manners were excellent, rose more than once to help her, but she expressed no gratitude.
When, after tea, the party went out to make a tour of the garden Charles murmured to his sister:
‘Lawson doesn’t like me. Odd, isn’t it?’
Theresa said, mockingly: