But the angels were rather uneasy. They had been dressed ever since seven o’clock in their white shifts, gold sashes and wings. It was now past ten, and the strain was beginning to tell, for it was impossible to sit back comfortably in wings.
“Oh, I wish they’d hurry up so we could get it over,” said Creative Endeavour. “Mrs. Ape said we could have some champagne afterwards if we sang nice.”
“I don’t mind betting she’s doing herself pretty well, down there.”
“Chastity!”
“Oh, all right.”
Then the footman with the nice eyes came to clear the table. He gave them a friendly wink as he shut the door. “Pretty creatures,” he thought. “Blooming shame that they’re so religious … wasting the best years of their lives.”
(There had been a grave debate in the servants’ hall about the exact status of angels. Even Mr. Blenkinsop, the butler, had been uncertain. “Angels are certainly not guests,” he had said, “and I don’t think they are deputations. Nor they ain’t governesses either, nor clergy not strictly speaking; they’re not entertainers, because entertainers dine nowadays, the more’s the pity.”
“I believe they’re decorators,” said Mrs. Blouse, “or else charitable workers.”
“Charitable workers are governesses, Mrs. Blouse. There is nothing to be gained by multiplying social distinctions indefinitely. Decorators are either guests or workmen.”
After further discussion the conclusion was reached that angels were nurses, and that became the official ruling of the household. But the second footman was of the opinion that they were “young persons,” pure and simple, “and very nice too,” for nurses cannot, except in very rare cases, be winked at, and clearly angels could.)
“What we want to know, Chastity,” said Creative Endeavour, “is how you come to take up with Mrs. Panrast at all.”
“Yes,” said the Angels, “yes. It’s not like you, Chastity, to go riding in a motor car with a woman.” They fluttered their feathers in a menacing way. “Let’s third-degree her,” said Humility with rather nasty relish.
(There was a system of impromptu jurisdiction among the Angels which began with innuendo, went on to crossexamination, pinches and slaps and ended, as a rule, in tears and kisses.)
Faced by this circle of spiteful and haloed faces, Chastity began to lose her air of superiority.
“Why shouldn’t I ride with a friend,” she asked plaintively, “without all you girls pitching on me like this?”
“Friend,” said Creative Endeavour. “You never saw her before today,” and she gave her a nasty pinch just above the elbow.
“Ooooh!” said Chastity. “Ooh, please … beast.”
Then they all pinched her all over, but precisely and judiciously, so as not to disturb her wings or halo, for this was no orgy (sometimes in their bedrooms, they gave way, but not here, in Lady Metroland’s schoolroom, before an important first night).
“Ooh,” said Chastity, “Ooh, ow, ooh, ow. Please, beasts, swine, cads … please … oh … well, if you must know, I thought she was a man.”
“Thought she was a man, Chastity? That doesn’t sound right to me.”
“Well, she looks like a man and—and she goes on like a man. I saw her sitting at a table in a teashop. She hadn’t got a hat on, and I couldn’t see her skirt … ooh … how can I tell you if you keep pinching … and she smiled and so, well, I went and had some tea with her, and she said would I go out with her in her motor car, and I said yes and, ooh, I wish I hadn’t now.”
“What did she say in the motor car, Chastity?”
“I forget—nothing much.”
“Oh, what.” “Do tell us.” “We’ll never pinch you again if you tell us.” “I’m sorry if I hurt you, Chastity, do tell me.” “You’d better tell us.”
“No, I can’t, really—I don’t remember, I tell you.”
“Give her another little nip, girls.”
“Ooh, ooh, ooh, stop. I’ll tell you.”
Their heads were close together and they were so deeply engrossed in the story that they did not hear Mrs. Ape’s entry.
“Smut again,” said a terrible voice. “Girls, I’m sick ashamed of you.”
Mrs. Ape looked magnificent in a gown of heavy gold brocade embroidered with texts.
“I’m sick ashamed of you,” repeated Mrs. Ape, “and you’ve made Chastity cry again, just before the big act. If you must bully someone, why choose Chastity? You all know by this time that crying always gives her a red nose. How do I look, I should like to know, standing up in front of a lot of angels with red noses. You don’t ever think of nothing but your own pleasures, do you? Sluts.” This last word was spoken with a depth of expression that set the angels trembling. “There’ll be no champagne for anyone tonight, see. And if you don’t sing perfectly, I’ll give the whole lot of you a good hiding, see. Now, come on, now, and for the love of the Lamb, Chastity, do something to your nose. They’ll think it’s a temperance meeting to see you like that.”
It was a brilliant scene into which the disconsolate angels trooped two minutes later. Margot Metroland shook hands with each of them as they came to the foot of the staircase, appraising them, one by one, with an expert eye.
“You don’t look happy, my dear,” she found time to say to Chastity, as she led them across the ballroom to their platform, banked in orchids
