behavior she chose, because she had the position-and, above all, the sheer style-to carry it off as if she were the rule and everyone else the exception.
She told Pitt only that she was going out with Aunt Vespasia. She knew that he liked Vespasia enough not to question it. In fact, he sent her his very best wishes in a message of what was for him unusual respect.
She accompanied Emily in her carriage, and had borrowed another dress for the day, since it was impractical for her to spend such allowance as she had for clothes on something she would wear probably only once. The minutiae of high fashion changed so frequently that last season's dress was distinctly passe this season; it was seldom more than once or twice in six months that Charlotte attended an affair like the entertainment at Callantha Swynford's.
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The weather was perfectly appalling, driving sleet out of an iron-gray sky. The only way to look in the least glamorous was to wear something as gay and dazzling as possible. Emily chose light, clear red. Not wishing to look too similar, Charlotte chose an apricot velvet that made Emily slightly cross she had not chosen it herself. She was too proud, though, to demand they exchange, even though both were her gowns; her reasons would have been too obvious.
However, by the time they reached the Swynfords' hallway and were welcomed into the large withdrawing room, which had been opened into the room beyond, fires blazing, lamps bright, Emily forgot the matter and launched herself into the business of the visit.
'How delightful,' she said with a brilliant smile at Callan-tha Swynford. 'I shall look forward to meeting absolutely everyone! And so will Charlotte, I am sure. She has spoken of little else all the way here.'
Callantha made the usual polite replies, and conducted them to be introduced to the other guests, all talking busily and saying very little of consequence. Just over half an hour later, when the pianist had begun to play a composition of incredible monotony, Charlotte observed a very self-possessed child of about fourteen whom she recognized from the portrait to be Fanny. She excused herself from her present company-easily done, since they were all bored with each other and had been pretending to listen to the music-and made her way between other groups until she was next to Fanny.
'Do you like it?' she whispered quite casually, as if they were long acquaintances.
Fanny looked slightly uncertain. She had an intelligent, candid little face, with the same mouth as her mother, and gray eyes, but otherwise the resemblance was less than the portrait affected. And she did not look as if lying came to her by nature.
'I think perhaps I don't understand it.' She found the tactful answer with some triumph.
'Neither do I,' Charlotte said agreeably. 'I don't care to have to understand music unless I like the sound of it.'
Fanny relaxed. 'You don't like it either,' she observed with 194
relief. 'Actually, I think it's awful. I can't imagine why Mama invited him. I suppose he's 'the thing' this month or something. And he looks so dreadfully serious about it I can't help thinking he doesn't like it much himself. Maybe this isn't the way he means it to sound, do you suppose?'
'Perhaps he's worried he won't be paid,' Charlotte answered. 'I wouldn't pay him.*'
Seeing her smile, Fanny burst into laughter, then realized it was completely improper, and hid her mouth with her hands. She regarded Charlotte with new interest.
'You are so pretty you don't look as if you'd say dreadful things,' she observed frankly, then realized that she had added to her social mistake even further, and blushed.
'Thank you,' Charlotte said sincerely. 'I'm so glad you think I look nice.' She lowered her voice in conspiracy. 'Actually, I borrowed my dress from my sister, and I think now she wishes she'd worn it herself. But please don't tell anyone.'
'Oh, I shan't!' Fanny promised instantly. 'It's beautiful.'
'Have you got any sisters?'
