‘By all means,’ she said, ‘I shall be enchanted to lend you the car. Yes, take Poppy with you; it will do poor Driburgh good to see her pretty face. Now which day had you thought of going? Tomorrow? Very well then, I shall tell the gardener that he is to pick a really first-class bunch of grapes and some peaches for you to give dear Driburgh from me with very many messages. I shall be very anxious to have an account of how you find him.’
Jasper was pleased to hear this. First-class grapes and peaches were a long-felt want at the Jolly Roger, where the strawberries were over and the raspberries were becoming decidedly squashy.
‘Should he seem to be more or less himself,’ Lady Chalford continued, little suspecting that such black thoughts lurked in the mind of her young friend, ‘my dear husband and I would be most happy to receive him here some time. Now I wonder, for instance, if the curator would permit him to come over to see the pageant. Anyhow, I leave it in your hands, Mr Aspect, to do as you think best.’
Lady Chalford then spoke of the pageant. ‘You have all been most kind. I am more grateful to you than I can say for relieving me of any trouble in this matter. It would have been far beyond my powers to organize a thing of this sort, living as I have for so long in seclusion. That dear little woman, Mrs Lace now – so clever of you to find her. She tells me that she knows all the neighbours for miles around. I have asked her to revise my list so that we can send out the invitations. My husband’s agent will then look through it for me and tell me all about the people, so that I can be quite sure that I shall ask nobody who it would be unsuitable for my little Eugenia to meet. One cannot be too careful, of course. Mrs Lace herself is, he tells me, the daughter of a rural dean, and Lace I know to be a much-respected name in these parts; the family has lived at Comberry for a hundred years or more and Major Lace is a lay rector. I am perfectly contented for Eugenia to make friends with them, quite suitable people. Now, tell me, when is dear Poppy’s husband expected down here?’
12
Poppy and Jasper bowled across the sixteen odd miles of rural England which lay between Chalford and Peersmont in an ancient maroon-coloured Rolls-Royce, the one concession made by Lord and Lady Chalford to the age of progress. Instead of being carried along in an almost recumbent position, seeing nothing except gleaming paint-work, as in modern cars, they sat bolt upright and enjoyed a full view of the summer landscape. The inside of the car smelt rather musty and the upholstery was hidden under holland covers.
The countryside looked extremely beautiful, covered as it was with alternate acres of golden corn, dark-green woods and lemon-coloured stubble dotted with stooks of corn. The heat was intense. Poppy said how sad it made her feel when she thought that in a very few years’ time these lovely lonely stretches would probably be covered with mean little jerry-built houses.
‘Think of Sussex,’ she said with a shiver, ‘how agreeable it would be if England could become much poorer, smaller, inconspicuous among nations and civilized once more.’
‘Becoming poorer won’t necessarily make her more civilized,’ said Jasper. ‘Civilization is dependent on one economic factor and that is extreme inequalities of wealth. The inevitable advent of Socialism, whether national or international, will be the fatal blow to what is left of our civilization.’
‘If that is your view I am surprised that you should have joined Eugenia’s party, which is obviously a form of national Socialism, isn’t it?’
‘I prefer national Socialism to the other sort, it is so much more romantic. Besides, I am inclined to think that the Western civilization we know needs putting out of its agony as soon as possible. It is old and tired, the dark ages are practically upon us anyhow, and I should prefer that they march in with trumpet and flag than that they should creep upon us to the tap of the typewriter. I am at heart, I suppose, a Nihilist.’
‘I don’t know what that is,’ said Poppy.
‘No! But then you are a girl with a very limited outlook, aren’t you?’
‘I’m not.’
‘Oh! yes, you are. Like most women you only care about personalities, things don’t interest you.’
‘That’s simply not true. I’m fearfully interested in things – I absolutely long for a sable coat.’
‘Don’t be flippant, it irritates me.’
‘Well, it’s a fact,’ said Poppy, defiantly, ‘and I should be quite happy for ever if I had one.’
‘Really! women are extraordinary.’
‘All the same darling, you do love me, don’t you?’
‘I’m bound to say I do. But I should love you a great deal more if you were my intellectual equal.’
‘As I’m always telling you – you ought to marry Marge. She speaks four languages.’
‘As I’m always telling you, there’s nothing would suit me better, but you’re so idle, you never take any kind of steps to arrange it for me.’
‘Too late now, she’s nuts about Mr Wilkins – simply nuts. You can’t imagine how she dotes on that man.’
‘More than you dote on me?’
‘Much more. He’s literally the only chap she has ever been keen on you see, so she thinks him perfect. She has nothing else to compare him with.’
‘I’m bound to say it has made a great difference to her. She is quite civil to me now instead of biting my head off whenever I speak as she did at first. Love is an exceedingly remarkable thing, in some ways. So what is she going to do about it?’
‘Well, I believe she has written to Osborne to tell him definitely that their engagement is off – she was keeping him
