The Vortex

as it should be⁠—of course, she’s a couple of hundred years too late⁠—she ought to have been a flaunting, intriguing King’s mistress, with black page boys and jade baths and things too divine⁠— Enter Preston. Preston

Announcing.

Miss Hibbert.

Enter Clara Hibbert⁠—she is affected, but quite well-dressed. Preston goes out. Clara My dears. Isn’t Florence back yet? Helen No, we’re waiting for her. Pawnie You look harassed, Clara. Clara I am harassed. Helen Why? Clara I’m singing tonight for Laura Tennant⁠—she’s giving a dreadful reception at her dreadful house for some dreadful Ambassador⁠— Pawnie How dreadful! Clara No one will listen to me, of course⁠—they’ll all be far too busy avoiding the Cup and searching for the Champagne. Helen What are you singing? Clara One Gabriel Faure, two Reynaldo Hahn’s and an Aria. Pawnie Which Aria? Clara I can’t think, but my accompanist will know⁠—I’ve got a frightful headache. Helen Why don’t you take off your hat? Clara My dear, I daren’t⁠—I’ve just had my hair done⁠—I suppose you haven’t got a “Cachet Faivre,” either of you? Helen No, but Florence has, I expect⁠—Preston will know where they are⁠—ring the bell, Pawnie. Pawnie

Ringing bell.

My poor Clara⁠—I do hope your singing tonight will justify the fuss you’re making this afternoon.

Clara Don’t be so brutal, Pawnie. Helen Is Gregory going with you? Clara Of course⁠—I never sing unless he’s there⁠—he gives me such marvelous moral support. Pawnie “Moral” is hardly the word I should have chosen, dear. Enter Preston. Helen Do you know if Mrs. Lancaster has any “Cachet Faivre” anywhere? Preston Yes, ma’am⁠—I think so. Clara Do get me one, Preston, I’m suffering tortures. Preston Very well, miss. She goes out. Pawnie Preston has such wonderful poise, hasn’t she? Helen She needs it in this house. Clara I do wish Florence would hurry up. I want to borrow her green fan. I’ve got a new Patou frock that positively demands it. Helen She can’t be long now. Clara I suppose I daren’t ask Preston for the fan and creep away with it? Helen I shouldn’t, if I were you⁠—Florence is very touchy over that sort of thing. Clara She promised it to me ages ago. Pawnie Surely there isn’t such a desperate hurry? You won’t be singing until about half-past eleven. Clara

Petulantly.

My dear, I’ve got to rehearse⁠—I don’t know a word⁠—

Re-enter Preston with a “Cachet Faivre” and a glass of water. Clara You’re a saint, Preston⁠—thank you a thousand times⁠— Pawnie Soak it a little first, dear, or you’ll choke, and I should detest that. Clara soaks “Cachet” and then swallows it. Preston goes out. Clara Now I must lie down flat⁠—get out of the way, Helen. Pawnie Perhaps you’d like us both to go right out of the room and sit in the hall? Clara No, Pawnie, I should never expect the least consideration from you. She lies down flat on the divan, Helen arranges cushions for her. Clara Thank you, Helen darling⁠—I shall always come to you whenever I’m ill. Helen That will be nice. Enter Florence Lancaster followed by Tom Veryan. Florence is brilliantly dressed almost to the point of being “outré.” Her face still retains the remnants of great beauty. Tom is athletic and good-looking. One feels he is good at games and extremely bad at everything else. Florence Helen⁠—Pawnie, have you been here long? Pawnie No, only a few hours. Florence My dear. I’m so frightfully sorry⁠—we’ve been held up for ages in the traffic. Davis is a congenital idiot. Always manages to get to a turning just as the policeman puts out his hand. No initiative whatever. What’s happened to Clara? Has she been run over? Clara No, dear, I’ve got a frightful head. Florence Pawnie, you know Tom, don’t you?⁠—Tom Veryan, Mr. Quentin, I’m sure you’ll adore each other. Tom

Shaking hands.

How are you?

Pawnie Very well, thank you⁠—how sweet of you to ask me? Florence Is there anything I can do, Clara? Clara Yes, dear, lend me your green fan for tonight. Florence All right⁠—but you won’t get too carried away with it, will you, dear? I should hate the feathers to come out. Does anyone want any tea? Helen No thanks, dear. Florence Cocktails, then? Pawnie It’s too early. Florence

Ringing bell.

It’s never too early for a cocktail.

Clara I should like to go quite quietly into a convent and never see anybody again ever⁠— Pawnie Gregory would be bored stiff in a convent. Florence We’ve just been to a most frightful Charity matinée. Nothing but inaudible speeches from dreary old actors, and leading ladies nudging one another all over the stage. Preston enters. Cocktails, Preston, and ask Barker to wrap up my green fan for Miss Hibbert to take away with her. Preston Very good, ma’am. She goes out. Clara You’re an angel, Florence⁠—I think I’ll sit up now. Florence Do, dear, then Tom will be able to sit down. Clara

Sitting up.

I really do feel most peculiar.

Pawnie You look far from normal, dear. Clara If Pawnie’s rude to me any more I shall burst into tears. Florence Tom, give me a cigarette. Pawnie Here are some. Florence No, Tom has a special rather hearty kind that I adore. Clara Lend me your lip stick, Helen; mine has sunk down into itself. Helen Here you are. Clara What a lovely color! I look far prettier than I feel. Florence

To Tom.

Thank you, angel.

Clara I shan’t be able to get down to the house until Saturday evening, Florence⁠—I’m seeing Gregory off to Newcastle. Pawnie Why Newcastle? Clara His home’s just near there⁠—isn’t it too awful for him? Florence Well, wire me the time of your train, won’t you? Clara Of course, dear. Helen You’re smelling divinely, Florence. What is it? Florence

Flicking her handkerchief.

It is good, isn’t it?

Pawnie “Narcisse Noir” of Caron. I use it. Florence Yes, you would, Pawnie. Re-enter Preston with parcel. Preston Here is the fan, miss. Clara

Taking it.

Thank you so much⁠—you are sweet, Florence. A fan gives me such a feeling of security when I’m singing modern stuff. Preston goes out. I must rush now⁠—

Florence Don’t you want a cocktail before you go? Clara No, darling⁠—I should only hiccup all the evening. Goodbye, you’ve been such a