longer.”
One of the young men said: “Could you lend me a fiver. I’ve a date at the cafe de Paris.”
“No, you’d better ask Sonia.”
“But it’s so boring. I’m always borrowing money from her.”
In the course of the evening Lady Seal had found time to touch her old friend Sir Joseph Mannering on the sleeve and say, “Don’t go at once, Jo. I’d like to talk to you afterwards.” As the last guests left he came across to the fireplace, hands behind his coat tails and on his face an expression of wisdom, discretion, sympathy, experience and contentment. He was a self-assured old booby who in the easy and dignified role of family friend was invoked to ag-gravate most of the awkward situations that occurred in the lives of his circle.
“A delightful evening, Cynthia, typically delightful. I sometimes think that yours is the only house in London nowadays where I can be sure both of the claret and the company. But you wanted to consult me. Not, I hope, that little trouble of Barbara’s?”
“No, it’s nothing about Barbara. What’s the child been doing?”
“Nothing, nothing. It was just some idle bit of gossip I heard. I’m glad it isn’t worrying you. I suppose Basil’s been up to some mischief again.”
“Exactly, Jo. I’m at my wits’ end with the boy. But what was it about Barbara?”
“Come, come, we can’t fuss about too many things. I did hear Basil had been up to something. Of course there’s plenty of good in the boy. It only wants bringing out.”
“I sometimes doubt it.”
“Now, Cynthia, you’re overwrought. Tell me exactly what has been happening.”
It took Lady Seal some time to deliver herself of the tale of Basil’s misdemeanours. “… if his father were alive… spent all the money his Aunt left him on that idiotic expedition to Afghanistan… give him a very handsome allowance… all and more than all that I can afford… paid his debts again and again… no gratitude… no self-con- trol… no longer a child, twenty-eight this year… his father… the post kind Sir William secured him in the bank in Brazil… great opening and such interesting work… never went to the office once… never know where or whom he is with… most undesirable friends, Sonia Trumpington, Peter Pastmaster, all sorts of people whose names I’ve never even heard… of course I couldn’t really approve of his going about so much with Mrs. Lyne—though I daresay there was nothing wrong in it—but at least I hoped she might steady him a little… stand for Parliament… his father… behaved in the most irresponsible way in the heart of his constituency… Prime Minister… Central Office…. Sonia Trumpington threw it at the mayor… Conservative ball… one of them actually arrested… come to the end, Jo… I’ve made up my mind. I won’t do another thing for him—it’s not fair on Tony that I should spend all the money on Basil that should go to them equally… marry and settle down… if his father were alive… it isn’t even as though he were the kind of man who would do in Kenya,” she concluded hopelessly.
Throughout the narration Sir Joseph maintained his air of wisdom, discretion, sympathy, experience and contentment; at suitable moments he nodded and uttered little grunts of comprehension. At length he said: “My dear Cynthia. I had no idea it was as bad as that. What a terrible time you have have had and how brave you have been. But you mustn’t let yourself worry. I daresay even this disagreeable incident may turn to good. It may very likely be the turning point in the boy’s life…
Learned his lesson. I shouldn’t wonder if the reason he hasn’t come home is that he’s ashamed to face you. I tell you what, I think I’d better have a talk to him. Send him round as soon as you get into touch with him. I’ll take him to lunch at the club. He’ll probably take advice from a man he might resent from a woman. Didn’t he begin reading for the bar once? Well, let’s set him going at that. Keep him at home. Don’t give him enough money to go about. Let him bring his friends here. Then he’ll only be able to have friends he’s willing to introduce to you. We’ll try and get him into a different set. He didn’t go to any dances all last summer I remember you telling me. Heaps of jolly girls coming out he hasn’t had the chance of meeting yet. Keep him to his work. The boy’s got brains, bound to find it interesting. Then when you’re convinced he’s steadied up a bit, let him have chambers of his own in one of the Inns of Court. Let him feel you trust him. I’m sure he’ll respond…”
For nearly half an hour they planned Basil’s fu-ture, punctually rewarding each stage of his moral recuperation. Presently Lady Seal said: “Oh, Jo, what a help you are. I don’t know what I should do without you.”
“Dear Cynthia, it is one of the privileges of maturity to bring new strength and beauty to old friendships.”
“I shan’t forget how wonderful you’ve been to-night, Jo.”
The old boy bounced back in his taxicab to St. James and Lady Seal slowly ascended the stairs to her room; both warm at heart and aglow from their fire-lit nursery game of “let’s pretend.” She sat be-fore her bedroom fire, slipped off her dress and rang the bell beside the chimney-piece.
“Ill have my milk now, Bradshawe, and then go straight to bed.”
The maid lifted the jug from the fender where it had been keeping warm and deftly held back the skin with a silver apostle-spoon as she poured the hot milk into a glass. Then she brought the jewel case and held it while wearily, one by one, the rings, bracelet, necklace and ear-rings were slipped off and tumbled in. Then she began taking the pins from her mistress’ hair. Lady Seal held the glass in both hands and sipped.
“Don’t trouble to brush it very long to-night, I’m tired.”
“I hope the party was a success, my lady.”
“I suppose so. Yes, I’m sure it was. Captain Cruttwell is very silly, but it was kind of him to come at all at such short notice.”
“It’s the first time Her Grace’s youngest daughter has been to dinner?”
“Yes, I think it is. The child looked very well, I thought, and talked all the time.”
Lady Seal sipped the hot milk, her thoughts still wandering innocently in the soft places where Sir Joseph had set them. She saw Basil hurrying to work in the morning, by bus at first, later—when he had proved his sincerity— he should have a two-seater car; he would be soberly but smartly dressed and carry some kind of business-like attache case or leather satchel with him. He would generally have papers to go through before changing for dinner. They would dine together and afterwards often go out to the theatre or cinema. He would eat with good appetite, having lunched quickly and economically at some place near his work. Quite often she would entertain for him, small young peoples’ parties of six or eight—intelligent, presentable men of his own age, pretty, well-bred girls. During the season he would go to two dances a week, and leave them early… “Bradshawe, where is the spoon? It’s
