Jane lay awake for hours that night, tingling all over with excitement and trying to concentrate on the foregoing events with some degree of calmness.
‘He never said anything about marriage,’ she thought. ‘Probably he has no intention of marrying me: artists seldom want the extra responsibility of a wife. And then he probably has very modern ideas on the subject. No, he evidently means it to be just an affaire. Anyhow, tomorrow I shall tell him that I love him. Then, if he wants me to be his mistress, we can run away to Paris together when we leave here, but not before. I can’t have Sally involved.’
Jane was delighted with this idea. Marriage had always seemed to her rather a dull and pompous business, but to run away to Paris as the mistress of a handsome young artist would be the height of romance, and would properly scandalize her parents and relations. (Jane’s one mission in life seemed to be to alienate her family, of whom she was, if she had only realized it, extremely fond, and nobody would have been more upset or annoyed than she herself if she had succeeded.)
As she lay watching the flickering firelight she suddenly had a mental vision of Albert’s good-looking face as it had appeared when he said, ‘Do you love me, darling?’
‘Yes! yes! yes! Albert, sweetest, I do! And I’ll tell you so tomorrow.’
And Jane fell rapturously asleep.
She was awakened at a very early hour by the sound of furious voices in the hall. She knew that this indicated the departure of the shooters (or guns) for another happy day on the moors.
‘But why “guns”,’ she thought sleepily. ‘After all, one doesn’t speak of people as “paint brushes” or “pens”. And why does it always make them cross when they are supposed to enjoy it so enormously? Of course, they simply loathe it really, poor things, and no wonder.’
General Murgatroyd and Lady Prague came out of the front door and stood just underneath Jane’s open window talking angrily.
‘Young puppy, I call him! Should like to give him a good thrashing. I couldn’t speak, I was so angry, and Buggins more or less stood up for him, too. But I shall certainly write to Craig and tell him the sort of thing that’s happening here.’
‘Yes, I should. I think of writing to Madge myself about the goings-on. All in and out of each other’s bedrooms and the gramophone playing till two and three in the morning. Then, another thing is, the servants won’t stand it much longer, you know – champagne for breakfast, and so on! Mind you, the Monteaths aren’t so bad. It’s those other two. But that young man, my dear, he’s dreadful.’
‘Don’t tell me. What d’you think he said to Brenda yesterday – didn’t you hear? He said: “What a drenching colour your dress is!” Poor Brenda said afterwards: “Well, I’ve heard of drenching a cow!”’
‘Yes, she told me. Well, I dare say we shall be able to laugh at all this when it’s over, but I hardly find it amusing at the present moment, personally.’
‘Oh, it’s too shocking! It’s the downfall of England, mind you … Mons! will you come here.’
At this moment the others came out, and climbing into the ’bus they all roared away up the drive. Jane lay in bed shaking with laughter, but she felt rather sorry for Sally and Walter. ‘Still,’ she thought, ‘it can’t be helped. We’ve done nothing wrong that I know of.’
She began slowly to dress, manicured her nails, took particular pains with her face and hair, and at about eleven she strolled downstairs. She looked into the billiard-room, half hoping that Albert would be there, but it was empty. Coming back into the hall she saw Sally sitting on the bottom step of the staircase.
‘Oh, my dear, I’m feeling so awful!’
Jane dashed forward, put her arm round Sally’s waist and half carried her to a sofa, where she went off into a dead faint. Jane, thoroughly alarmed, called out loudly for Walter, who ran downstairs in his dressing-gown.
‘Oh, God!’ he said on seeing Sally. ‘What! She’s not … ?’
‘She’s only fainted. Pull yourself together, Walter, and fetch some brandy or something. Look, though! she’s coming round now.’
Sally opened her eyes and smiled at Walter, who was rubbing her hands in a distracted sort of way. Presently she sat up and drank some brandy, which Albert, appearing from nowhere, produced in a tumbler. Walter finished what she didn’t want.
‘Goodness, darling, what a turn you gave me! But what on earth’s the matter with you? You were as right as rain a minute ago. D’you feel better now?’
‘Yes, quite better, thank you. I’ll just stay here for a bit, I think … Walter …’
‘Yes, my angel.’
‘Promise not to be cross.’
‘Yes. What?’
‘No, but promise really and truly.’
‘Of course I promise, funny; but what is it?’
‘Well, I’m afraid this means I’m in the family way. You’re not cross? You see, I’ve been suspecting it for some time now and hoped for the best, you know; but this is rather conclusive, isn’t it. Are you terribly shocked, my sweet?’
‘No, naturally not, darling precious. But how careless of us. Never mind, I think it will be rather sweet, really – I mean, the baby will. But it’s too awful for you, though.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind. I’m rather pleased. You are divine not to be cross. It is an anxiety all the same, isn’t it, because how are we ever going to clothe the poor angel? I mean, babies’ clothes are always covered with lace, just like underclothes. They must be frightfully expensive. Oh, gosh!’
‘Well, my treasure, you’ll have to be like pregnant women in books and sit with a quiet smile on your face making little garments. It is a bit of a shock at first, isn’t it, the idea of your
