By luncheon time any feelings of Christmas goodwill which the day and the religious service, duly attended by all, might have been expected to produce had quite evaporated, and towards the end of that meal the dining-room echoed with sounds of furious argument among the grown-ups. It was the duchess who began it. She said, in a clear, ringing voice which she knew must penetrate to the consciousness of Lady Bobbin:
‘Yes, the day of the capitalist is over now, and a jolly good thing too.’
‘May I ask,’ said Lady Bobbin, rising like a trout to this remark and leaning across the projecting stomach of Lord Leamington Spa, ‘why you, of all people, think that a good thing? Mind you, I don’t admit that the capitalist system has come to an end, of course it hasn’t, but why should you pretend to be pleased if it did? Affectation, I should call it.’
‘No, not entirely affectation, Gloria darling. What I mean is that if, in a few years’ time, people like us have no money left for luxuries we shall all, as a consequence, lead simpler and better lives. More fresh air, more sleep, more time to think and read. No night clubs, no Ritz, no Blue Train, less rushing about. And the result of that will be that we shall all be much happier. Don’t you agree?’
Lady Bobbin, whose life was quite innocent of night clubs, the Ritz, and the Blue Train, and who had more time than she wanted in which to think and read, was not impressed by this statement. ‘It has never been necessary to make a fool of oneself just because one happens to have money. There have always been plenty of decent people in the world, but unfortunately nobody ever hears about them, because they don’t advertise themselves like the others. I wonder, Louisa, whether you will be quite so glad of the end of capitalism when you find yourself without the common necessities of life.’
‘I don’t anticipate that,’ said the duchess comfortably. ‘The world at present is suffering from over-production, not under-production, of the necessities of life.’
‘Surely, duchess,’ began Captain Chadlington ponderously, from his end of the table, feeling that now, if ever, was the time to make use of the information that he had so laboriously garnered from the P.M., the F.O., the I.L.P., S.B., L.G., and his fellow M.P.s, and to assert himself as a rising young politician. The duchess, however, took no notice of him and continued to goad Lady Bobbin.
‘Think,’ she said, ‘how splendid it will be for our characters as a class if we are forced to lead simple, healthy lives, to look after our own children, and to earn our own bread. And then think of all the horrors that will be done away with, all those ghastly hideous country houses everywhere that will be pulled down. We shall be able to live in darling clean little cottages instead –’
‘My house,’ said Lady Bobbin, always quick to take offence, ‘is, I hope, scrupulously kept. If you are implying –’
‘Darling, don’t be absurd. I only meant that they would be spiritually clean.’
‘If you feel like this, Louisa,’ said Lord Leamington Spa, now entering the lists with the light of battle in his eye, ‘why on earth don’t you act accordingly? Why not shut up Brackenhampton and live in one of the cottages there instead? I don’t suppose there’s anything to prevent you.’
‘Nothing to prevent me, indeed!’ cried the duchess. She had been waiting for this argument to be produced like a cat waiting for a mouse. ‘There are nearly a hundred living souls to prevent me, that’s all. D’you realize that we employ altogether ninety-eight people in the house and gardens at Brackenhampton? I can’t, for no reason at all, take a step which would deprive all those old friends of work, food, even of a shelter over their heads. It would be quite unthinkable. I only say that if the whole system by which we live at present were to be changed we ourselves would all be a good deal happier than we are, and better in every way.’
Lady Bobbin said ‘Pooh!’ and rose to leave the table. She was trembling with fury.
The afternoon was so wet and foggy, so extremely unseasonable, in fact, that Lady Bobbin was obliged with the utmost reluctance to abandon the paper chase which she had organized. Until four o’clock, therefore, the house party was left to enjoy in peace that exquisite discomfort which can only be produced by overfed slumberings in arm-chairs. At four punctually everybody assembled in the ballroom while for nearly an hour the Woodford schoolchildren mummed. It was the Woodford schoolchildren’s annual burden to mum at Christmas; it was the annual burden of the inhabitants of Compton Bobbin to watch the mumming. Both sides, however, bore this infliction with fortitude, and no further awkwardness took place until after tea, when Lord Leamington Spa, having donned once more his dressing-gown and wig, was distributing gifts from the laden branches of the Christmas Tree. This was the big moment of the day. The tree, of course, immediately caught fire, but this was quite a usual occurrence, and the butler had no difficulty in putting it out. The real crisis occurred when Lady Bobbin opened the largish, square parcel which had ‘To darling Mummy from her very loving little Bobby’ written on it, and which to Lady Bobbin’s rage and horror was found to contain a volume entitled The Sexual Life of Savages in Northern Melanesia. This classic had been purchased at great expense by poor Bobby as a present for Paul, and had somehow
