Distracted from the regal splendours of a chinchilla cloak by the sense that another lady was also examining it, Mrs. Vanderlyn turned in surprise at sight of Susy, whose head was critically bent above the fur.
“Susy! I’d no idea you were here! I saw in the papers that you were with the Gillows.” The customary embraces followed; then Mrs. Vanderlyn, her eyes pursuing the matchless cloak as it disappeared down a vista of receding mannequins, interrogated sharply: “Are you shopping for Ursula? If you mean to order that cloak for her I’d rather know.”
Susy smiled, and paused a moment before answering. During the pause she took in all the exquisite details of Ellie Vanderlyn’s perpetually youthful person, from the plumed crown of her head to the perfect arch of her patent- leather shoes. At last she said quietly: “No—to-day I’m shopping for myself.”
“Yourself? Yourself?” Mrs. Vanderlyn echoed with a stare of incredulity.
“Yes; just for a change,” Susy serenely acknowledged.
“But the cloak—I meant the chinchilla cloak… the one with the ermine lining….”
“Yes; it is awfully good, isn’t it? But I mean to look elsewhere before I decide.”
Ah, how often she had heard her friends use that phrase; and how amusing it was, now, to see Ellie’s amazement as she heard it tossed off in her own tone of contemptuous satiety! Susy was becoming more and more dependent on such diversions; without them her days, crowded as they were, would nevertheless have dragged by heavily. But it still amused her to go to the big dressmakers’, watch the mannequins sweep by, and be seen by her friends superciliously examining all the most expensive dresses in the procession. She knew the rumour was abroad that she and Nick were to be divorced, and that Lord Altringham was “devoted” to her. She neither confirmed nor denied the report: she just let herself be luxuriously carried forward on its easy tide. But although it was now three months since Nick had left the Palazzo Vanderlyn she had not yet written to him—nor he to her.
Meanwhile, in spite of all that she packed into them, the days passed more and more slowly, and the excitements she had counted on no longer excited her. Strefford was hers: she knew that he would marry her as soon as she was free. They had been together at Ruan for ten days, and after that she had motored south with him, stopping on the way to see Altringham, from which, at the moment, his mourning relatives were absent.
At Altringham they had parted; and after one or two more visits in England she had come back to Paris, where he was now about to join her. After her few hours at Altringham she had understood that he would wait for her as long as was necessary: the fear of the “other women” had ceased to trouble her. But, perhaps for that very reason, the future seemed less exciting than she had expected. Sometimes she thought it was the sight of that great house which had overwhelmed her: it was too vast, too venerable, too like a huge monument built of ancient territorial traditions and obligations. Perhaps it had been lived in for too long by too many serious-minded and conscientious women: somehow she could not picture it invaded by bridge and debts and adultery. And yet that was what would have to be, of course… she could hardly picture either Strefford or herself continuing there the life of heavy county responsibilities, dull parties, laborious duties, weekly church-going, and presiding over local committees…. What a pity they couldn’t sell it and have a little house on the Thames!
Nevertheless she was not sorry to let it be known that Altringham was hers when she chose to take it. At times she wondered whether Nick knew… whether rumours had reached him. If they had, he had only his own letter to thank for it. He had told her what course to pursue; and she was pursuing it.
For a moment the meeting with Ellie Vanderlyn had been a shock to her; she had hoped never to see Ellie again. But now that they were actually face to face Susy perceived how dulled her sensibilities were. In a few moments she had grown used to Ellie, as she was growing used to everybody and to everything in the old life she had returned to. What was the use of making such a fuss about things? She and Mrs. Vanderlyn left the dressmaker’s together, and after an absorbing session at a new milliner’s were now taking tea in Ellie’s drawing- room at the Nouveau Luxe.
Ellie, with her spoiled child’s persistency, had come back to the question of the chinchilla cloak. It was the only one she had seen that she fancied in the very least, and as she hadn’t a decent fur garment left to her name she was naturally in somewhat of a hurry… but, of course, if Susy had been choosing that model for a friend….
Susy, leaning back against her cushions, examined through half-closed lids Mrs. Vanderlyn’s small delicately- restored countenance, which wore the same expression of childish eagerness as when she discoursed of the young Davenant of the moment. Once again Susy remarked that, in Ellie’s agitated existence, every interest appeared to be on exactly the same plane.
“The poor shivering dear,” she answered laughing, “of course it shall have its nice warm winter cloak, and I’ll choose another one instead.”
“Oh, you darling, you! If you would! Of course, whoever you were ordering it for need never know….”
“Ah, you can’t comfort yourself with that, I’m afraid. I’ve already told you that I was ordering it for myself.” Susy paused to savour to the full Ellie’s look of blank bewilderment; then her amusement was checked by an indefinable change in her friend’s expression.
“Oh, dearest—seriously? I didn’t know there was someone….”
Susy flushed to the forehead. A horror of humiliation overwhelmed her. That Ellie should dare to think that of her—that anyone should dare to!
“Someone buying chinchilla cloaks for me? Thanks!” she flared out. “I suppose I ought to be glad that the idea didn’t immediately occur to you. At least there was a decent interval of doubt….” She stood up, laughing again, and began to wander about the room. In the mirror above the mantel she caught sight of her flushed angry face, and of Mrs. Vanderlyn’s disconcerted stare. She turned toward her friend.
“I suppose everybody else will think it if you do; so perhaps I’d better explain.” She paused, and drew a quick breath. “Nick and I mean to part—have parted, in fact. He’s decided that the whole thing was a mistake. He will probably; marry again soon—and so shall I.”
She flung the avowal out breathlessly, in her nervous dread of letting Ellie Vanderlyn think for an instant longer that any other explanation was conceivable. She had not meant to be so explicit; but once the words were spoken she was not altogether sorry. Of course people would soon begin to wonder why she was again straying about the world alone; and since it was by Nick’s choice, why should she not say so? Remembering the burning anguish of those last hours in Venice she asked herself what possible consideration she owed to the man who had so humbled her.
Ellie Vanderlyn glanced at her in astonishment. “You? You and Nick—are going to part?” A light appeared to dawn on her. “Ah—then that’s why he sent me back my pin, I suppose?”
