It is. There's one girl who's got a terrible crush on one of them — the one called Ernest. She's really got it bad. I think queers are rather attractive — in a repulsive kind of way. Don't you?
He said, smiling: I wouldn't know. My tastes don't lie that way.
She said: Good! He wondered whether it meant what it seemed to mean. He was trying to determine whether the warmth of her smile was intended for him particularly, or whether it was part of a general manner she had picked up at the drama school. She leaned back on the settee, and stared up at the ceiling. He looked hopefully at her knees, but the dress had not travelled far as she stretched. She said:
Tell me what you write.
Not now, he said. Some other time.
She looked at him sideways.
When?
He felt a shock of pleasure that was controlled and softened by the effect of the brandy. Before he could reply, Miss Quincey came back in. She glanced disapprovingly at Caroline's position, which the girl seemed to feel without catching the glance: she sat up and began to rearrange the cushions. Miss Quincey said:
I didn't expect you until late, dear.
I know. I meant to come from the theatre, but they called the rehearsal off. I'm darned glad too. I'm really exhausted. We've had such a day! Am I interrupting any profound discussion?
No, dear, Miss Quincey said comfortably. She was pouring tea.
Gerard…
The use of his name surprised him. She was holding out a teacup.
Oh, thank you…
What have you been talking about? Caroline asked. Her voice was drawling again.
Mainly about Austin, Sorme said.
Oh!
Caroline, Miss Quincey said. The girl took the cup.
Are you hungry?
I am a bit. I haven't had anything since lunch time.
No tea?
Couldn't be bothered. I was learning my part.
Oh dear. You really ought to. I'll get you something in a moment.
Don't bother. I'll find myself a sandwich.
Sorme asked her: What part are you playing? He was not interested, but Miss Quincey's food-talk was beginning to irritate him. Caroline said vaguely:
I forget her name. She's the wife of a poet… We're doing a play about the French poet Rimbaud. I'm the wife of his best friend.
Verlaine?
That's right. I have to recite a poem in French. I hope my accent's all right. It begins…
Drink your tea, dear, Miss Quincey said.
All right, the girl said meekly. She sipped her tea.
Miss Quincey sat down. She asked:
What on earth did I do with my brandy?
Oh… I drank it. I'm sorry. I didn't think you wanted it.
That's all right. I didn't really. I just didn't want to waste it..
She had contrived to make him feel guilty, and given him an odd sense of kinship with Caroline. The girl looked at him over the top of her cup; her eyes looked bright. He stopped himself from answering her look. She set her teacup down, and stretched like a cat, her breasts curving. There was a faint noise of something giving way. She said with annoyance:
Damn. My bra's bust!
Caroline! Miss Quincey said.
The girl ignored her; she raised her elbow and felt down the back of her neck.
That's twice today, she said. Have you got a needle, aunt?
Miss Quincey got up silently, and crossed to the sideboard. Sorme was aware of her irritation and disapproval. Caroline seemed oblivious of it. He said, smiling: I hope it didn't happen under embarrassing circumstances?
He felt Miss Quincey's eyes on him. Caroline said:
No. Luckily I was on my own. But I know one poor girl who lost her pants in rehearsal…
She began to giggle breathlessly. Miss Quincey returned with a needle and a reel of white cotton. Caroline took it without looking at her. She said:
It was so funny… She had the kind that stay up with a button..
Caroline! Miss Quincey said.
And the button bust… She nearly broke her neck with a pair of nylon briefs round her ankles…
Really, Caroline!
But it was funny, the girl said defensively. She looked so silly trying to get off stage without falling over…
Sorme felt a desire to irritate Miss Quincey further. He asked:
What would you have done if it had been you?
Miss Quincey sat down again, as if the conversation had become too risque for her to take any further responsibility. Caroline said:
I'd have stepped out of them and gone on with the rehearsal.
Oh, really, dear! Miss Quincey looked flushed.
But it happens, Caroline said. What's wrong with being frank about it?
Miss Quincey said, with surprising mildness: It's not a nice subject, dear.
Nice, Caroline said scornfully: You are silly, aunt!
Sorme looked apprehensively at Miss Quincey, but she sipped her tea quietly, almost abstractedly. The girl stood up.
I'll go and get this sewn. Then I'll cut myself a sandwich, if I may.
I'll do it, dear.
No, don't bother.
She went out of the room, taking her teacup with her. She turned and flashed Sorme a quick smile at the door. When the door had closed, Miss Quincey stared into space, a faintly perturbed expression on her face. She said finally:
I do worry about her.
Why?
She continued to stare, without replying. She said suddenly:
Oh well, I dare say it doesn't matter… She'll get married…
Of course, Sorme said.
She looked at him.
It's different for you. You're a man. Besides, you're older than she is.
What do you mean?
She began to sew again, not replying. He watched her curiously, wondering what her feelings were. He could think of nothing to say that would open the subject. He asked finally:
Don't you approve of the drama school?
It isn't that…
He waited, staring into the fire. She was looking at him, but he kept his eyes on the red bars. She said:
I try not to force my beliefs on other people, you see. I don't force them on Austin or Caroline, or on you, do I?
No.
But… Well, I'm supposed to, really. It's a part of our belief that everyone should have a chance to…
He waited for her to say 'repent', but she went on:
