The Limit Part 37

"Very charming, those motor-veils, and the whole costume. At the same time, while being thoroughly practical and sensible, it is, if I may say so, extremely becoming."

He bowed with a condescending air, and went on--

"The English young girl--at least, such specimens as I have seen in the neighbourhood, especially in the country--seems to me a wonderfully beautiful object. In Belgium we are getting on, but we have not reached, as yet, the point of freedom combined with modesty that you constantly see over here. Particularly, as I say, in rural districts."

He then made what can only be described, vulgarly, as a distinct 'eye.'

Both the Campbells looked uneasy.

"The Prebendary will be in soon," said Mrs. Campbell. "He promised faithfully to come back to tea to-day. He also is a very busy man. He come in soon," she spoke rea.s.suringly.

Daphne was suddenly taken with a _fou rire_ and began to laugh helplessly. Val, seeing her condition, and knowing that when she once started there was no hope but in immediate flight, took leave.

They were cordially asked to come again by Mrs. Campbell. But Mr.

Stoendyck invited them to lunch, and wanted to fix a day and hour. Mrs.

Campbell, however, declined his invitation for them. Mrs. Wyburn, she said, must have a great many engagements.

They left Stoendyck standing in the hall, looking sentimental.

"All foreigners not of the Latin race go on like that," said Val, as they drove back. "They may be scientific, or soldiers, philosophers, or musicians, but if they're Germans or Belgians or Austrians, or anything of that sort, they always get bowled over by a young girl, a blue ribbon, plumpness, or fair hair."

"But I'm very thin and dark," said Daphne angrily.

"I don't care if you are. You're a pretty girl, you're unmarried, you've got blue chiffon round your head--and there it is.... I don't mean Prussian officers, of course."

"_They_ would appreciate _you_, I suppose you mean!"

"One can't say. They'd probably take on anything."

Valentia took out the little looking-gla.s.s from her motor-bag, looked at it, put it back, and added--

"Anything possible, I mean."

"Go on, Val."

"Go on how?"

"Telling me things. You're so interesting, you know such a lot. Now, about the Latin races--wouldn't they like--er--me?"

"Of course they would. But they'd like you better if you were married to Cyril or any one. Frenchmen and Italians always want their love-making or flirtations to have something in it of the nature of a _score_. They love scoring off a third person, whoever it may be,--whether it's their friend's wife, or their wife's friend, or anything."

"They're not sincere, then?"

"Don't be silly. If they weren't sincere, why are there nothing but unwritten-law crimes all over France and Italy? And why do Parisians think and talk of ... nothing else! They're _sincere_ all right: it's their hobby. Italians, of course, are more jealous and faithful, and Parisians are frightfully vain--there's a good deal of a sort of sn.o.bbism about it. They love to show off. That's why they're so keen on dress."

"Do you think," said Daphne, with sudden anxiety, "that if you don't dress to perfection you can't keep a man's love? I _do_ hope not! I mean because when I'm married to Cyril I shan't be able to afford to wear anything at all, except a clean blouse which I shall have to iron out myself, like in _Hearth and Home_."

Valentia shook her head.

"Dressing to perfection doesn't make men love you, silly. It only makes women hate you. And I never have yet seen the advantage of that."

"Oh, then, do Parisians want other women to hate you?" asked Daphne. Her sister hesitated.

"Sometimes. Very often they don't. They want you to be admired by other people, whoever they are, men or women. But in Paris dress counts in a different sort of way--it means more--it stands for more. Oh, don't bother!"

"Well, give me a straightforward Englishman!" exclaimed Daphne.

"Yes, indeed!" replied Val. "That Belgian Herr, anyhow, doesn't count. I can't think why Mrs. Preb. and Miss Campbell are so much in love with him."

"Isn't it funny? Why do you think it is, Val?"

"Perhaps it's because he's a man. You see, they're accustomed to curates."

CHAPTER x.x.xI

AT EDGWARE

Miss Brill had twisted up her hair and put on her Sunday dress to receive Vaughan.

To harmonise with the d.i.c.kens's garden it ought to have been white muslin with flounces and a pink sash. But it was a quite long, dark blue Liberty satin, made by a smart dressmaker in the Finchley Road. It had a high collar, an Empire waist, and gathers.

Her mother was delighted with it. Gladys had not been quite satisfied herself, and had tried to tie it in round the ankles with concealed string, to make it look more like a n.o.bble skirt, as she called it.

Her almost too abundant hair had been piled over a pad, which gave her the appearance of having a swollen head. Yet even so she looked lovely, rather like an old-fashioned picture in the Academy of _I'se Gan'ma_, or something of the kind, suggesting a baby disguised as a grown-up-person.

Vaughan went through the usual ritual of asking after Mrs. Brill--he rather hurried Mr. Brill over his remark about the finest woman one would see in a day's march--then admired the weather, ordered tea, and asked for Miss Brill.

Gladys came and sat down with a rather shy, self-conscious air.

She soon lost it, however, and began to get natural again.

"Oh, Mr. Vaughan! I _never_ was more surprised than I was at that piece in the paper! And mother come over quite queer, she was so surprised.

You were kind in your letter to forgive me for being rude. Who'd ever have thought you was clever?"

"Who, indeed! But, Gladys, why this get-up? Why are you dressed up in satin and dark colours on a summer day?"

"Why, mother said a nice navy blue was always useful. I'd rather have had a Cambridge blue myself. Mother says navy blue's so ladylike. Don't you like it?"

"Charming. But I don't like what you've done to your hair."

"Don't you, though? Fancy! Well, I don't seem to care much for it myself. It's a Pompadour, you know--a pad."

"Take it off," said Vaughan.

"Oh, I can't!"