Outbreak of Love (30 page)

“He doesn't want to lose you, Diana.”

“He goes into a cloud of emotion and rains down beautiful thought which evaporates in five minutes. He was using Josie to blackmail me. And to say that about kicking the fence! Thank Heaven no one understood clearly what he meant. Oh, I shall be glad when the next fortnight is over. How wonderful it will be. Did you notice what John said about this house, and it being ‘meant'? Isn't he a dear?”

“It rather applies to us, too.”

“Yes, the whole thing seems to be working out in a sort of pattern. I wish John hadn't been in uniform. He looked very nice, but it was a reminder of all the war in the air.”

“Don't worry. It may not happen. The Kaiser has gone off on a yachting holiday, and he wouldn't do that if he were going to declare war.”

“You say such sensible things, Russell. The other day I had to listen to Owen Dell, who, because he's a colonel in the Australian Army, thinks he must be accepted as an authority on European diplomacy. He's delighted at the prospect of war. He thinks he'd be made a general.”

“I think one of the things that are tiresome here is that no one seems to know how much he doesn't know.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Diana. “I must go back to the hall. People will be looking for me to say good-bye.”

Harry was in the hall, and Diana said: “That is my son. Shall I introduce him?”

Russell hesitated. He wanted to gain Josie's friendship so that it would be easier for Diana when they were in Europe, but he saw no point in making the acquaintance of a young man whom he would be unlikely to meet again, and who from his appearance, would almost certainly in the near future be going about saying that he would “like to shoot Lockwood”.

Diana felt his hesitation and said: “Perhaps there's no point.”

George and Baba passed through the hall. George stopped, congratulated Diana on everything, and said good-bye. Baba gave her a blank stare and walked on. Although Baba was consistently rude to her “in-laws”, she had never before gone so far as to cut her hostess, and for a minute or two after this Diana had a curious feeling of puzzled anger.

Most of the people began to leave. They said the wedding had been “fun”, “beautiful”, “so nice, all our own sort”, and one or two almost tearfully pressed her hand and said how sad she must feel at losing her daughter. While she thanked them she could not help wondering what they would be saying about her in a few months' time.

At last all had gone, except for a few relatives and old family friends who had lingered on to gossip, among them Steven and Laura. There was a Gilbert and Sullivan opera season opening in Melbourne, and as the sixth of August was Mildy's birthday, Steven thought that they might give her a theatre party on that day, partly in recognition of her kindness to me. They asked George and Baba, but Baba refused as she did not think it would be smart to be seen in public with Mildy, and as she was now a master of that underbred insolence, those tricks which any ill-natured person can pick up in a week, and which many people in society imagine are aristocratic, she gave as her excuse: “the plumber is coming in that day.”

When Steven was leaving he also invited Diana and Wolfie. Diana hesitated and said: “That is only two days before I sail for England.”

“Then it can also be a farewell party for you,” said Laura.

She thought a moment and said: “Thank you. Very well, I'll come.” She had an affection for Steven and Laura, and she did not think that they would blame her for leaving Wolfie. She was pleased at the idea of this friendly family meeting before she left.

Steven and Laura, with countrified simplicity, imagined that Cynthia might be “out of things” now that Anthea was away, though actually Cynthia, as well as her own, had Anthea's share of the “and Miss Langton” invitations. They invited her to the party—a birthday dinner at the Oriental Hotel, and then
Patience
at Her Majesty's.

Diana was going to find Elsie to thank her for lending the house, and also she hoped to secure from her, she didn't know how, some promise that nothing that happened should ever break their friendship, or at any rate convince her that whatever she did, it would not show any weakening of her affection and gratitude to her. She felt more tranquil than at any time in recent weeks.

She was preoccupied with her thoughts of what she would say, when in the little arcaded gallery leading to the drawing-room, she was stopped by Mildy in a state of agitation.

“Diana, I must speak to you,” she said.

“What about?”

“Everyone is talking about you. You mustn't be seen talking to Russell Lockwood. Baba saw you with him in a hansom going up Swanston Street, and Miss Bath said you had supper alone together. I know you would never do anything unbecoming, but you ought to be discreet.”

“What impertinence!” exclaimed Diana.

“You don't want to be talked about.”

“By Baba and Miss Bath? They'll talk about me whatever I do, so I may as well give them some reason.”

“You wouldn't
do
anything!” said Mildy, round-eyed with admiration.

“I wouldn't allow Miss Bath to influence me. Where is she? I didn't see her.”

“She didn't come.”

“That's a good thing,” said Diana, and she went on to look for Elsie. But Mildy had disturbed her mood of calm acceptance. Could it be true that people were talking about her, all those people who had been so flattering and affectionate this afternoon? Was that simply manner, and had they come with no friendliness towards her, but only because it was a grand wedding? She could not believe it, and yet she could not entirely put it from her mind. She remembered Baba, staring at her without saying good-bye. That, instead of disturbing her, reassured her a little. The others did not behave like that. But they were “ladies”. Miss Bath, in spite of her repulsive magnetism, was also a lady. She did not approve so she stayed away. Only Baba would go to a party and cut her hostess, because although Elsie had lent the house, Diana had been responsible for everything else.

When she found Elsie she did not try to say what she had intended. Her mood was changed and was touched with bitterness. She felt that any attempt to retain the friendship of those whom she loved would be misunderstood. She thought that perhaps she ought not to go to Mildy's birthday party, but she did not see what excuse she could give.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Harry went back to Queensland three days after the wedding, and Diana was ashamed to feel relieved that he was gone. It was unpleasant to feel a faint dislike for one of her children, even if, perhaps, it was not much deeper than Harry's ridiculous “public school” manner which was partly responsible for it. Also, his presence had made her attitude to Wolfie more difficult. She continually felt the impulse to compensate him for Harry's rudeness.

She saw Harry off on the Sydney train and went to have tea with Russell.

“The situation is simplifying,” she said. “You must think I'm rather like a potato that you've dug up with too much earth attached to it. But I'm gradually shedding it.”

He laughed and said: “You're not like a potato at all. A rather graceful stick of celery, perhaps.”

“Well, I'm not going to let the earth worry you any more. Perhaps it's been a good thing because it's shown me how I can rely on you. And it has eased me from my native soil. It's given me time to know what I'm doing. You've been so patient and understanding. No other condition might have shown me that. So often one finds vulgar people who are kind, and people with taste and culture who are insolent to harmless nonentities.”

“Or vulgar people who are insolent to harmless nonentities.”

“Like Baba,” said Diana. She paused. “Russell, people have begun to talk about us. At least, Baba has.”

“Oh.” He looked serious. “How much does that matter, I wonder? For you, I mean. It doesn't matter for me at all.”

“It doesn't matter for me, only for Josie. It may be nothing. Mildred told me, and she loves any excitement. I wish I hadn't mentioned it. Anyhow, there's really nothing she can say. Apparently she saw us that day when it was raining and we drove up to the Gallery in a hansom.”

“It doesn't sound terribly vicious,” said Russell.

“Baba cut me yesterday at the wedding.”

“What! She couldn't!” he exclaimed.

“You've no idea what that type can do.”

“It's inconceivable. You know I don't believe that you have the faintest conception of what you are. You talk about a potato with earth on it. You're a diamond or something better. If you could have seen yourself at the wedding, you couldn't imagine that that pathetic
arriviste
could ‘cut' you. You looked superb, like someone who had stepped out of her place in history into our commonplace world. You had such a look of detachment and tolerance, and pride and kindness, and that with the bones of your face gave you a look of tremendous distinction, the look your mother had sometimes, especially when she was a little angry. I expect that every glance you give Baba unconsciously blots her off the earth, and she simply can't bear it.”

“I was a little angry,” said Diana.

“Not with me I hope.”

“No, of course not. How could I be?” She hoped that this would wipe out her involuntary withdrawal when he was announced. “From what I've seen of you, I don't believe you could ever make me angry.”

“I've tried to show you my best side.”

“What's your worst side?”

“I don't forgive injuries.”

“Oh! Not ever?”

“I wouldn't say that.”

“You make me a little frightened. I might do you an involuntary injury—perhaps you might find that I'd done so by coming with you.”

“That's absurd. You don't know how proud I shall be of you. And I don't mean accidental injuries. I mean those done deliberately—in cold blood. If I were Wolfie, I'm afraid I wouldn't forgive you.”

“Are you blaming me?” asked Diana uneasily.

“Good Heavens, no. He did you the first injury, and I don't expect you to forgive that.”

“But I have forgiven him,” said Diana. “I wish him well. I'm very anxious about his future, but I don't want to share it.”

“I'm not sure that's not a little immoral,” said Russell, but he was smiling, and she tried to think that he had not meant what he said.

They talked about their arrangements. It was only a week till Josie and John returned, and a fortnight till Russell sailed. “It's easy for me now,” said Diana. “There are only two things which I may find slightly upsetting. We're to dine at Government House on the night Josie returns, and there's a family birthday party only two nights before I sail. It's when I have to appear in public with Wolfie, as a dutiful wife, that I find it difficult, and feel a humbug.”

“Think that in only a few weeks we'll be together and free.”

“I do think of it. I'm thinking of it all the time. Although these past three months have been trying, they've been wonderful too.”

They arranged when and how they should meet until he left.

“I'd like to see you on the day before you sail,” said Diana. “Because after that I shan't see you for nearly two weeks.”

“Shall we drive somewhere on that afternoon, if it's fine? I'll come to Brighton to collect you.”

“Yes, that would be lovely. And it will be all right to call at the house, as Wolfie goes to the Conservatorium on Thursdays.”

In the train on the way home she felt that everything was now clear ahead, and yet there was something at the back of her mind which prevented her from enjoying perfect tranquility of mind.

The dinner at Government House was a little trying, but not in the way that Diana had foreseen. She and Wolfie were invited to the big parties, but she had not dined there since before her marriage. If it had not been for Josie, they would not have been invited now. In her carefulness to be punctual they arrived early, and were shown into an empty drawing-room. Josie and John were the first to come down. Josie, in a pale yellow dress, looked blooming, and she embraced them affectionately. She seemed to fit with such natural grace into this setting that Diana was immensely proud of her. It was only a family party and when the others came down they stood about, talking with cheerful informal friendliness, but when they went into dinner the atmosphere changed.

Sir Roland began to talk about the probability of war. As a young man he had been in the Diplomatic, but had left it to go into Parliament. People in Melbourne, far from the scene of any wars, and at that time with scanty foreign news in their papers, did not take the rumours very seriously, but the people at Government House were English, and belonged to the class which regarded wars and diplomacy as their special province. Sir Roland was well-informed, and pretended to be even more so. Diana saw Josie looking puzzled and anxious, and she thought it not very well-mannered of them to keep the conversation on the likelihood of imminent war in the presence of a young bride, who was by way of being the guest of honour, whose husband was a soldier, and whose father incidentally was conspicuously German, and at the moment looking pompous, puffy round the eyes, and bewildered.

“But isn't the Kaiser on a yachting holiday?” asked Diana, remembering Russell's observation. “Would he go off if he expected war?”

Miss Rockingham looked gratefully at Diana across the table, and nodded her long head in approval of this intelligent remark. In the drawing-room she came up to her and said:

“I am so glad you said that about the German Emperor. It's obvious that he doesn't want a war. It's so foolish to talk of one as if it were a day's shoot. I have dear friends in every European country.” She meant all the crowned heads, but left that to be assumed. “It would be the end of all of
us
.” She waved her hand at Lady Eileen and Dolly Wendale.