‘Yes, I see. So why didn’t she marry the Duke?’
‘You never can tell with Marge why she does this, that or the other. Her mind doesn’t work in any comprehensible channels. She just decided to chuck the whole thing the day before yesterday, and then we came down here.’
‘Some people don’t know when they’re lucky,’ said Jasper.
‘That’s what I told her. Marge, I said, in three days’ time from now, if you take my advice, you’ll be a duch. It’s not necessary to look upon that as an end in itself, but think what a useful stepping-stone to all the things one would really like to be – a double duch, for instance, awfully chic, you can’t be a double duch without being an ordinary one first can you? Then think how enjoyable to be a dowager duch, or even a divorced duch.’
‘Or even a dear old duch,’ said Jasper.
‘But it was all no good, she hardly even listened to me. It appears that romance is what she’s after now, or some such nonsense – the girl’s been reading trash I suppose. So she left the classical notes on her pincushion, one for Osborne Dartford and one for her mamma, and she fondly imagines that they won’t find out where we are hiding, so you won’t tell anyone who would matter will you?’
‘I won’t.’
‘And don’t let anyone see that we are – well – you know –’
‘Walking out you mean?’
‘Mm.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Anthony St Julien might get to hear of it.’
‘I thought you said he wouldn’t mind?’
‘He wouldn’t mind at all, quite the contrary, he’d be pleased. He wants to divorce me on account of he dotes on a débutante.’
‘Boy must be batty,’ said Jasper. ‘If I had a lovely wife like you I’d never go near débutantes.’
‘I say, you are sweet.’
‘I’m not sweet at all, only sane. So you don’t like the idea of being divorced by Anthony St Julien?’
‘Of course I don’t, why should I? It’s most unusual for ladies to be divorced you know, and besides I shouldn’t have any money to live on.’
‘Why doesn’t Anthony Dirty Sweep St Julien let you divorce him?’
‘Because it appears that débutantes don’t like marrying divorced gentlemen. You see, she won’t be a co-respondent herself, and she won’t let him take a lady to Brighton either.’
‘Sounds like a whist drive,’ said Jasper. ‘Winning lady moves up, and the losing gentleman moves down. I think your husband is a cad, Miss Smith, if there’s one sort of chap I do hate it’s a cad.’
‘Thank you,’ said Poppy St Julien, ‘you are really sweet.’
‘Sweet’s my middle name. Good morning Miss Jones, how did you sleep?’
‘Wretchedly, thank you,’ said Lady Marjorie, ‘You should feel my bed.’
‘Oh! I say, I’d like to later on. You know, you must be a real princess, old girl.’
‘Are we on old girl terms?’
‘Perhaps you’re right,’ said Jasper. ‘By the way, there’s a whole heap about you in the papers this morning, orangeade instead of orange blossom. Have you seen it?’
‘Yes thanks, I have.’
‘I don’t think I quite approve of all this careless casting away of dukes you know, dear.’
‘Thank you so much. It’s immaterial to me what you think about my private affairs. And pray don’t call me “dear”.’
There was a short silence. Jasper would have liked to get down in good earnest to his conquest of Miss Jones, but felt himself most unaccountably hampered by the presence of Miss Smith. He was very much disgusted by this weakness, and feared that it might indicate the presence of a real emotion.
‘Where’s your friend?’ asked Mrs St Julien.
‘Noel? He’s doing badly. He’s gone and fallen in love with a local beauty, poor old boy.’
‘Talking about local beauties,’ said Mrs St Julien, ‘I’ve got a mysterious cousin who must live somewhere in this neighbourhood. She’s called Eugenia Malmains and nobody has ever clapped eyes on her as far as I know – I thought I’d try and see her while I’m down here.’
‘Nothing easier,’ said Jasper. ‘If you will be outside the twopenny-bar shop this afternoon at four o’clock exactly, I will introduce to you your cousin Eugenia Malmains.’
The day was very hot and breathless. Jasper, Noel, and the two ladies sat beneath a large lime tree on the village green and found little to say to each other. Jasper, who had a great many subjects in common with Mrs St Julien, when alone with her, and who could, he felt sure, have made a most pleasing impression on Lady Marjorie under the same circumstance, found it strangely difficult to deal with the two of them together. The presence of Noel, too, rather cramped his style. Lady Marjorie and Mrs St Julien made desultory conversation, while Jasper bided his time, and Noel silently considered where, when, and how, he should make a declaration to Mrs Lace.
At four o’clock, exactly, Eugenia arrived, swinging down the village street with the gait of a triumphant goddess, and closely followed by Vivian Jackson and the Reichshund. ‘Hail!’ she cried, throwing up her arm in the Social Unionist salute.
‘Snow,’ replied Noel, laughing immoderately at this very poor joke.
Eugenia regarded him with lowering brow. ‘Union Jackshirt Foster,’ she said sternly, ‘beware, I have had to speak to you once before. If you continue to be facetious at the expense of our Movement I shall be obliged to degrade you before the comrades. In fact I will cut off all your buttons with my own dagger.’
‘Quite right,’ said Jasper ‘Ignominy or a Roman death for Union Jackshirt Foster. Miss Eugenia, I want to introduce you to your cousin Mrs St Julien, and to Lady Marjorie Merrith. They are staying at the Jolly Roger like us.’
‘Hail!’ said Eugenia. She saluted each in turn and then shook hands. ‘I am very pleased to see you here. We are badly in need of members for a women’s branch in this village, perhaps you would
