‘Your mother told me most distinctly that aunts were not allowed. Only uncles, she said.’
‘Oh, Mother! She just makes up the rules as she goes along. I dare say she’s guessed my guilty passion for Aunt Loudie and thinks she can throw cold water on it from the start. If one’s allowed it’s quite obvious that the other would be too. I wonder where Delphie is, by the way?’
‘I think I saw her go out with Michael – for a walk, I suppose.’
‘That’s all to the good. Splendid. I’m very pleased about that.’
‘Oh, you are, are you? May one ask why?’
‘Well, naturally, I’m delighted when I see Delphie going about with Michael. I’m arranging for her to marry him, you know.’
‘Oh, indeed! I thought he was supposed to be in love with Amabelle?’
‘Love,’ said Bobby pompously, ‘has little or nothing to do with a matrimonial alliance. We Bobbins never marry, we contract alliances, and all that is necessary for a successful alliance is mutual respect. Now Michael’s a sentimental old thing, and he likes to imagine that his heart is broken irreparably; it gives him a certain kick, I suppose. But that needn’t prevent him from wanting to marry and settle down with a family of his own. Naturally he’s not in love with Delphie, I don’t see, personally, how one could be, but she would make him an ideal wife, healthy, well-born, properly educated for that sort of position, and so on. Just the very thing he ought to be looking for.’
‘Oh, damn you,’ said Paul.
‘Now what’s the matter?’
‘Well, you see, I happen to be in love with her myself.’
‘Oh, no! Are you honestly? How too enthralling this is. I wish I knew what you all see in her. But that’s perfect. I hope Michael has noticed; it ought to egg him on no end, oughtn’t it? A little rivalry and so forth. I must drop him a hint.’
‘Do be serious for one minute, Bobby.’
‘I am, dead serious.’
‘You see, I want to marry her myself.’
‘You want to marry her? Poor old boy, I’m afraid that’s absolutely no cop. Delphie must marry well whatever happens. We Bobbins always do. Not that I wouldn’t dote on you for a brother-in-law if things were just a tiny bit different, but – you see?’
‘You are a worldly little beast, Bobby,’ said Paul gloomily, but without rancour.
‘Yes, aren’t I? It does pay so much better to be. I’m awfully sorry if you’re feeling wretched about all this though, Paul dear, I am truly. I’m very fond of you, though you might not think it. Now I’ll put these letters to be posted (let’s hope they bring in a good fat return) and then we might ride over to Amabelle’s, shall we? It’s rather late, but we can always say that we stopped on the way back for a game of squash.’
At this moment Philadelphia wandered aimlessly into the room and asked what they were going to do.
‘Where’s Michael then?’ said Bobby.
‘I’ve no idea at all. Oh, yes, though, hasn’t he gone out with Mummy to look at that old barrow he’s going to excavate?’
‘Why didn’t you go with them?’
‘I thought it would be so boring.’
‘Barrows,’ said Bobby severely, ‘are very far from boring, let me tell you. I think you should try to take more interest in such things. You seem to live in a walking swoon.’
‘Anyway, what are you doing? Can’t I come too?’
‘We’re only going to ride over for some squash in Woodford.’
‘I’ll come and watch.’
‘All right, do,’ said Bobby, in exasperation. ‘Only I warn you there won’t be much to watch. It’s all a blind really, this squash and riding. We’re really going over to see Amabelle Fortescue at Mulberrie Farm.’
‘Oh, how thrilling. You know I heard Mother talking to Auntie Loudie about her, and afterwards she forbade me ever to go near Mulberrie Farm.’
‘Just you come along now then,’ said Paul. ‘Amabelle is longing to meet you, I know, and this is an excellent opportunity.’
On their way to the stables Bobby drew Paul aside and said: ‘Now we must try and make her pay attention to that barrow, community of interests is supposed to be an essential of married happiness.’
‘Damn you,’ said Paul again.
They found the party at Mulberrie Farm scattered about the drawing-room in attitudes of deathlike exhaustion.
‘We’re awfully tired and ill today, darlings,’ said Amabelle, ‘but it’s always lovely to see you, and I’m glad you’ve brought your sister at last, Bobby dear.’ She lay curled up on a Knole sofa and appeared almost unable to open her eyes. Her voice had become a mere whisper, her face a grey mask on which the rouge showed up with startling intensity. Her eyelashes, which she always painted navy blue, were now no darker than the shadows beneath them. Even the tactful Bobby was hardly able to conceal the shock that her appearance had given him. Sally and Jerome lay on other sofas, their ravaged faces half buried in pillows. Walter was nowhere to be seen.
‘What on earth is the matter with you all?’ said Bobby, after surveying this scene for some minutes in silence. ‘I know, you’ve been having a blind,’ he added accusingly.
Amabelle, who had dropped off to sleep again, woke with a start and said, ‘That’s it, however did you guess? We got to bed at half-past eight this morning, if you want to know, and we should be there still if it wasn’t for Sally’s perfectly idiotic theory that it makes one feel better to get up for tea. I can’t say I’ve noticed it. I couldn’t possibly feel more awful myself.’
‘What on earth have you been doing that could keep you up until eight-thirty; and why didn’t you invite me to the ball?’
‘We went to the New Year
