Chapter VII: Et Cetera (7)

"Really Drusilla, you're very dense sometimes," said Jessica a little piqued, but Drusilla only laughed.

"You can't possibly understand," began Jessica, but at the sound of a car drawing up at the front door below with a good deal of unnecessary hooting, she stopped and sat bolt upright, a scarlet patch of excitement on either cheek.

"Drusilla, that's Hugh!" she said, and jumping out of bed she darted over to the window, pushed it up and hung out, waving wildly.

Drusilla leaned over her shoulder, and saw Hugh standing on the steps below carrying two huge parcels and smiling up at Jessica.

"Darling, come up and see me," called Jessica, "it's most unseemly of you to be here on our wedding day, but since you are here you must come up. What have you come for anyhow?"

"Two important presents from two important people," said Hugh gaily, "Mother wants them shown in most conspicuous places, and incidentally she thought she'd better give me a job to keep my nerves steady."

"Oh are you nervous, Hugh? Do come up at once, dearest. Why does nobody let you in?"

"I don't suppose you've rung, have you?" Drusilla called down.

"Heavens, I forgot," said Hugh laughing, "I was just going to when Jessica appeared for the balcony scene."

He laid down one parcel, and rang the bell, still looking up.

"Couldn't you throw me a flower or something romantic?" he asked.

Jessica tore a small bow of gold ribbon off the shoulder of her nightgown, kissed it and flung it down to him.

"There you are," she called, watching it flutter slowly and uncertainly down to the street, "my God, it's going down into the area; it'll be wasted on cook. No it isn't; it's all right."

As her shrill excited tones followed the flight of the light scrap of ribbon, a shocked and inquisitive face appeared at the window opposite, and at the same moment she heard her mother's voice behind her.

"Jessica, come in at once. This is really too much; you must not lean out of the window in your nightgown; Drusilla, you shouldn't have allowed her."

Jessica waved airily to Hugh, blew a kiss to the face in the opposite house, drew in her head and shut the window.

"It's Hugh, Mother," she said as if that explained the whole situation, "he's down below with two important parcels from two important people."

"Well, that makes it worse," said Mrs. Deane severely, "you were hanging half out of the window and all the top of your nightgown is transparent lace. Really I feel quite cross with you both."

"Don't be cross, darling," implored Jessica. "My trousseau nighties are far more indecent than this, and look, I'll put on a dressing-gown before he comes up."

"He is certainly not coming up, Jessica. It would be most unsuitable."

Jessica flung her arms round her mother's neck and kissed her.

"Very well, darling," she said, "We won't outrage you any more; he shan't come up; I'll go down to him instead."

Laughing, she snatched up her dressing-gown and ran out of the room and downstairs, her bare feet flashing white over the green carpet.

Mrs. Deane laughed reluctantly.

"I'm perfectly helpless with Hugh and Jessica," she said, "It's no use hoping for any sense from either of them. Jessica is like a child; she's quite fey with excitement."

"It's really all right Mother," Drusilla soothed her. "She's frightfully happy and they do suit each other well. I honestly think Hugh understands her perfectly."

"Yes, I feel that too," said Mrs. Deane, going out on to the landing, "It's very satisfactory because Jessica _is_ so temperamental."

She leaned over the banisters and then turned smiling to Drusilla.

"Just look at them on the landing; they wouldn't mind if the servants and the caterers and all the furniture men were drawn up in rows to look at them."

Quickly sensitive to the watching eyes above, Hugh looked up.

"I say, Mrs. Deane," he said apologetically, "I know I oughtn't to be here, but Mother sent me round with a couple of presents, and now I am here I must talk to Jessica for a minute."

"Yes, of course, my dear," agreed Mrs. Deane, entirely forgetting her conventional qualms, "go into my sitting-room; it's the only room in the house that isn't upside-down. But really you can only have ten minutes and then Jessica must come upstairs."

She turned to Drusilla.

"Do go down and talk to your father, dearest. The servants have chased him from room to room, and now he's pacing round the billiard table in a terrible state of nerves. He ought to have gone to his office; it would have been much more sensible, but he had a feeling that Jessica might want him."

"All right, Mother; what are you going to do?"

"I'm just going to see that all her things are properly packed. But you know, Drusilla, I do not think she should have said her nightgowns were indecent."

"My dear Mother," said Drusilla decisively, going downstairs, "if you take seriously any one thing Jessica may say to-day you will forfeit all my respect and admiration."

"I hope she'll be serious in church at least," retorted Mrs. Deane, and went into the spare bedroom to look a little mournfully at Jessica's strapped trunks.

III

In the sitting-room Hugh and Jessica sat down on the rug in front of the fire. Hugh suddenly noticed her bare toes.

"My sweet," he said, "did you come running downstairs to me, all in your bare toes?"

Jessica leaned restfully against him as she answered: "Of course I did. I didn't dare wait in case Mother would stop me, and anyhow, I forgot about slippers."

She took his hand and gently flexed the fingers one by one.

"I've been mad with excitement all morning," she said. "And now you are with me I feel quite comfortable and easy and peaceful."

"We ought always to be together," said Hugh emphatically. "I hate to think I'll have to leave you alone every day when I go to the office."

"Oh, but that's years away. A whole month at least before we need think about it. All the same I would rather like to be a typist, or perhaps something a little grander, in your office. Couldn't it be arranged?"

"It could not, darling; not possibly; but anyhow it will be good coming home to you in the evenings."

"It's a pity there are so many magazine stories," said Jessica hazily, gazing into the fire. "You know the sort of stuff: bright eyes at the window, or the little woman at the garden gate. Now I shall be forced to stay on the sofa in my elegant yellow drawing-room and when you come in I shall just look up from my book in a casual way, and say, 'Hello Hugh!'"

"If you do wait like that I'll know you don't love me any more. You never wait for people you love, or even people you like; you always rush to meet them."

"Yes, but I'm going to be quite different now. When I'm a young matron--isn't it a ghastly expression?--I shall behave like a young matron and put away childish things and stop looking through a glass darkly."

"All at once, sweetheart? Jessica, I do love you so."

Hugh caught her to him and kissed her, but she gently warded him off.

"I love you too, Hugh; I adore you, but you mustn't spoil my face. It isn't vanity, but I do want to look lovely for you to-day."

"My dearest, you will. You couldn't look lovelier than you do now all rumpled and crumpled, but still I've often looked forward to your coming up the aisle to me in the gold frock and train that I've never seen, with a veil all over your darling face."

"I'm not wearing it over my face; it didn't go with my kind of naked forehead. It just falls back from a thing they call a fillet. Have you really imagined that, Hugh?"

"Often. I've lain awake at nights thinking about it, till sometimes I got so wide awake that I had to get up and walk about and hang out of the window, and sometimes I got so drugged with my own thoughts that I went to sleep thinking it was really happening."

"It's queer that you should love me so much, Hugh, but I should die at once if you didn't."

The door opened, and a housemaid came in to see to the fire.

"Go away, Mary," said Jessica, dreamily. "We've only got ten minutes together; we can't be interrupted."

"I'm so sorry, Miss Jessica," said Mary. "I'll see that nobody else disturbs you. The fire can wait."

She closed the door very softly, and went downstairs to inform the other servants that the sitting-room fire could await Miss Jessica's pleasure.

"Wouldn't it be appalling, Hugh, if we really had only ten minutes and then you had to leave me to go to China or some place."

"Awful!" said Hugh shortly, an expression of pain on his face.

"But we needn't worry," Jessica consoled him. "We've got all the time there is, haven't we?"

"Darling, we'll need it; I can't ever have enough of you."

Jessica suddenly shivered.

"Are you cold, my sweet?" he asked anxiously.

"Not a bit. I suddenly thought of something."

Jessica fell silent.

"What did you think of to make you shudder like that? Tell me, darling."

Hugh held her more closely, but Jessica did not answer for a moment, and when she did, she spoke jerkily and nervously.

"I was thinking of that terrifying play 'Hassan.' Do you remember how the two lovers could either be free and never see each other again, or else have one night together and then die in torture? I often think of that and I know I should choose to have the night with you even if I did have to be tortured, but still it does frighten me."

"Darling, don't think of it. We're fools to sit and frighten each other with idiotic impossibilities. Besides, every minute of to-day belongs to me and I insist on you being happy."

Hugh spoke gaily, but as he looked down at Jessica, he saw two tears hanging on her eyelashes.

"Jessica, dear," he said. "Nothing is really wrong, is it? You haven't changed your mind about marrying me, have you?"

Jessica held him convulsively, and smiled, though her tears fell.

"No, of course not," she said. "Nothing is wrong. I'm just a damned fool. I love you so and I get into dreadful panics about losing you and not having you any more."

"I'll keep you safe, I promise," Hugh spoke earnestly. "I'll always take care of you, my only love."

"I know you will, Hugh. It's all right really; I do feel safe with you. Sometimes I lose my nerve, that's all, and the other day Mother said something about not putting all my eggs in one basket."

"How silly." Hugh laughed scornfully. "What would be the use of scattering them about in dozens of baskets. Besides your Mother did it herself, and very successfully too; she adores your father."

Jessica sprang to her feet.

"Oh, Hugh," she exclaimed conscience-stricken. "I've never seen Daddy all day, and I know he'll be feeling utterly miserable about losing me. I must go to him at once."

"You're a vain creature; and anyhow, you don't want to go dashing off this minute to look for him. I'll have to go soon and you can find him then."

"Oh, dear, I suppose it's all right. I'll wait till you go."

Jessica sat down again, drew Hugh's arm round her, and leaned back comfortably on his shoulder.

"I'm not vain," she said. "But Daddy really is different. He needs me quite badly just as I need him, and often I feel guilty for marrying you and leaving him."

"But, darling, I need you frightfully. Honestly I need you more than your father. I know he loves you, but, my dear, I do more than that; I couldn't live without you."

"I'm glad," said Jessica. "We're both in the same boat then."

Forgetting to care about her complexion she turned her face to Hugh to be kissed. As Drusilla came in they broke apart from each other, but Jessica still kept her arms linked around Hugh's neck.

"Must he go now?" she asked, vaguely. "How terribly cruel."

"Yes, I'm afraid he must," said Drusilla. "Its nearly twelve and it will take you all that time to bathe and dress and have some sort of meal. But it isn't really so very cruel you know, Jessica, you've only got to wait about three hours till you have him for good."

"It is cruel," Jessica persisted wildly. "He'll never have me again as Jessica Deane. It will all be quite different and it's been so lovely up till now."

"But I'm longing for the end of Jessica Deane," said Hugh laughing.

"Don't laugh at me; you can't be certain that everything will be all right; don't laugh at me," said Jessica brokenly.

Hugh took her in his arms.

"My darling," he said soberly. "I am certain that everything will be all right. It won't be any different, only a million times better."

"Are you sure, Hugh? Are you really sure?"

"I promise you I am. Listen, sweet, I must go now and Drusilla will help you to dress and look after you, won't you, Drusilla?" He looked appealingly over Jessica's head. "And I'll be waiting for you when you come up the aisle with your father, and you must tip me a little wink when you get to me just to show me you're all right."

"Oh, darling, of course I'm all right," said Jessica happily. "I am, Drusilla, aren't I? I'm only a little crazed to-day, it's all so queer and lovely. I don't know what got me, I just suddenly felt sad for a minute. I think it was thinking about Daddy, but I'll go and comfort him a little when you've gone. Goodbye, my own dear love."

"I believe this is the only time I've ever said good-bye to you without getting an actual physical pain in the pit of my stomach."

"My dears," interrupted Drusilla, still waiting in the doorway, "I don't want to interrupt you, but--

"All right, Drusilla, I've gone; better do it quickly."

Hugh kissed Jessica, ran downstairs and in a moment the slam of the front door echoed through the house.

Jessica stood still where he had left her, staring vacantly after him.

"Jessica, are you asleep?" Drusilla asked her.

She shook her head and her eyes lightened.

"No, I'm not. I'm awake and blissfully happy. Tell me, shall I go and talk to Daddy now, or have my bath first? I haven't seen him all morning."

"I honestly think you ought to start dressing first. Daddy's all right. He is prowling round the house with everyone falling over him and carrying dishes and things round him."

"Poor darling," said Jessica tenderly. "Don't let me have too hot a bath," she warned Drusilla on the way upstairs. "I must be careful not to let my hair go limp."

IV

Dressing was pure delight. Jessica put on for the second time that day the yellow silk vest, the long gold silk stockings, and the narrow gold shoes, but added, this time, yellow silk knickers and a pair of gold garters.

As she stepped back to look at herself before putting on her frock, she said earnestly: "I do hope Hugh will like my shape."

"But surely you know he does," said Drusilla reassuring. "He thinks you're lovely and you are rather to-day."

"But he's never seen me stark," said Jessica simply. "It makes a difference. I think I'm too boyish-looking. I'd like to be frightfully feminine just for once."

"But you are in that frock. It really is charming. Do let me get you into it now. I ought to go and dress now myself. And here's Mother."

"I'm all ready, darling," said Mrs. Deane. "I just came to help to finish you off. Where's Marchmont?"

"We sent her away because Drusilla was helping me and I hate a crowd."

"Well, I'll slip your frock on for you, my dear, but Marchmont had better arrange the veil, I think."

"You do look nice, Mother, in all your elegance. Is Daddy dressed too?"

"No, not yet; he's fussing a little."

"Oh Mummy, I must see him. Please go and tell him to come up."

"It will do just as well when you're dressed, darling; you really must get on."

Jessica suddenly balked.

"I can't," she said. "I really can't put my frock on till I see Daddy. It's an inhibition."

She giggled softly, and Mrs. Deane looked at her in consternation as she sat down, still in her yellow underclothes and twisted her feet, like a child, round the legs of the chair.

"My dearest Jessica," she remonstrated. "You must try to be calm or you will make us all nervous and unhappy."

"Oh, darling, I'm sorry," said Jessica, instantly penitent. "Look, I'll get dressed as good as gold while you call Daddy."

As she spoke she struggled into her frock and when Mrs. Deane came back, followed by Mr. Deane, she ran to her father, trailing her train across the bedroom floor.

"Dearest," she said, "I've been wanting you all morning. I've been shut in by a conspiracy of women. Quite shocking; I feel as if I were in a harem."

"Well, you seemed to have a good long time with Hugh, I noticed."

"Oh that was only a minute. Besides he came on business with two presents. Do I look nice?"

Jessica stepped back as she asked the question and trod on her train. There was a little ripping sound as it tore away from one shoulder.

"Oh, Jessica, you've torn it. I knew perfectly well something would happen if you got so excited. Now I'll have to fetch Marchmont to mend it."

Mrs. Deane hurried away, and Mr. Deane looked guiltily at Jessica.

"I think I'd better get out of this," he said. "It's no place for me. But just tell me, my dear, you're quite happy, aren't you?"

"Of course I am, Daddy; how do you mean exactly?"

Mr. Deane cleared his throat nervously. "I don't mean anything, Jessica. Only if you have any doubts or worries or anything, far better call it off now, than go on with it."

He spoke fiercely, and with his eyes averted. Heedless of her already torn frock Jessica flung her arms round his neck.

"You're too sweet, darling," she said. "I know it would kill you to have your daughter jib at the altar. It really is sweet of you to suggest it. But I'm all right, Daddy. For once in my life I'm quite sure, with no after-thought and no terrors. Hugh's the proper person for me to belong to. You'd better go now; they're coming to mend me."

She stood still and quiet while the train was readjusted, and Mrs. Deane, looking at the steady glow of colour in her cheeks, felt relieved and contented. It seemed only a moment till Drusilla came back wearing her gold bridesmaid's dress with a heavy mediæval green girdle falling in two strands to the ground. She was carrying a bouquet of tawny chrysanthemums and a sheaf of faintly green speckled orchids for Jessica.

"Here's your exotic bouquet, my child," she said. "And I think it's far too macabre for a bride, but I suppose you like it. And here are the chicken sandwiches," she added as a maid entered with a tray.

Another moment for eating the sandwiches, and then a kiss from her mother, a kiss from Drusilla, and they were gone to Jessica's wedding, leaving the house very still, as if all life in it were suspended.

Jessica came slowly downstairs to the drawing-room to find her father. He was waiting for her at the door.

"Come in and sit down," he advised, "We ought to give them fully five minutes start. That will be enough."

He looked anxiously at his watch and appraisingly at Jessica.

"Not nervous, are you dear? You look very nice indeed, and there's nothing to be nervous about; it's quite plain sailing now."

He patted her hand fussily, and pulled out his watch again. Jessica smiled.

"No, I'm not," she said. "Not a scrap. But you are. You've looked at your watch twice in the last minute."

"Nonsense; I'm not at all nervous. I've done all this before. It's not so very long since I gave Marjorie away, you know."

"But that was different, wasn't it, Daddy?" Jessica insinuated softly.

Mr. Deane cleared his throat.

"Well, of course, Marjorie was much older and then she had been engaged a long time and--yes, well, it was a little different," he finished lamely.

"You know quite well what I meant, darling; you're just being evasive. I meant we were rather special, you and I."

"Now, Jessica, we must be sensible," Mr. Deane looked at his watch. "It's time we were off; we must allow a little extra in case of a block. Come along, dear, and be careful with your train. Your Mother told me to see you didn't disarrange yourself."

"Kiss me once, Daddy, before we go."

"Now be sensible, my dear. Your Mother said I wasn't to let you get excited."

"Darling, stop quoting Mother at me," said Jessica as she kissed her father and took his arm to go downstairs.

"Don't let your train touch the step," he adjured her. "There, that's all right." He stepped into the car.

"Good wishes, Miss Jessica," said the parlourmaid, smiling broadly, as she shut the door and the car started for the church.

"Hugh's made all the arrangements about tickets and so forth, hasn't he?" asked Mr. Deane.

"Yes, I think so, Daddy; he's very competent."

"Well, I gave your Mother twenty pounds for you, my dear. Better have some ready money when you're travelling. She said she would put it in the purse you were taking away with you."

"That was kind of you. Thank you, darling. I know Hugh is taking heaps of money, but it's useful to have a little of my own."

"Yes, quite; that was what I thought. Surely the car is going very slowly; we must not be late." He looked at his watch again and added, "No, it's all right, still seven minutes to the half-hour and we're nearly there."

Jessica pressed his hand gently.

"Your Mother will miss you," said Mr. Deane abruptly.

"Not half as much as you will, Daddy. And I'll miss you, too. I wish you could come with me. Will you write to me to-morrow, or the next day, or very soon anyhow."

"Certainly, I will; yes, certainly. But you mustn't worry. Just take things easily; everything is perfectly satisfactory and straightforward."

"I'm looking forward to the church bit of it, but not to the reception so much. But truly, I'm not fussed, Daddy."

"That's right. There's no need to be. Hugh's a good boy; if he weren't I'd never have allowed it."

"Sweetheart, you couldn't have stopped it, not possibly; nothing could."

"Now, my dear, you must be wise, and don't exaggerate. Here we are. Be very careful getting out; your Mother said you might get your train muddy just here."

As Jessica trailed the long gold train up the red carpet, she smiled at the eager, peering faces on either side and when a hoarse voice at the top said "Good luck, Miss," she half turned and said, "Thank you, indeed," in her usual clear steady voice.

A blur of massed faces swam before her eyes as she peeped into the church from the porch, while her two small pages caught up the loops of her train, and the bridesmaids formed themselves into a procession.

"Now, Jessica, are you ready?" whispered Mr. Deane urgently, as the organ burst out into a hymn, and the congregation stood up.

"Yes, darling, let's start. I can't see Hugh from here."

She walked slowly up the long aisle, her face uncovered, her head not bent in the conventional attitude, a half-smile of anticipation on her lips.

Then Hugh's face, a deep voice hurrying through the prescribed service, her father leaving her to slip into a pew, her own voice more distinct than usual, and Hugh's less distinct, a confused interlude of kisses and congratulations in the vestry, and once more she was in the car, this time with Hugh.

"My darling," he said quietly. "My lovely, darling Jessica."

"I'm glad now that I'm Jessica Greene because I love you so."

"Only a little minute, my sweet, and then we'll get away from these people and be by ourselves."

"I don't mind them. They're all wondering if we'll be happy and if you'll be good to me, and thinking back to their own wedding-days and having lumps in their throats."

"I should certainly have a lump in my throat if I were old and dull and came to your wedding, Jessica. You'll never know how beautiful you looked coming to me."

They sat blissfully silent till the car stopped, and the parlourmaid was again at the door smiling brightly as she said:

"Congratulations, Mrs. Greene, please, and to you, too, Sir."

Jessica laughed.

"It does sound funny," she said. "Thank you, Morgan. I suppose we ought to hurry upstairs and get ready in the drawing-room. Come along, Hugh; the mob may be on us at any moment."

Three quarters of an hour later after more congratulations, a steady hum of conversation, and an exhausting atmosphere of heat, feathers and flowers, Jessica found herself being shepherded up to her room by Drusilla.

"It all went beautifully," said Drusilla. "Really Jessica, you looked as nice as you wanted to."

"Oh, Drusilla, I am so glad it's over, and yet I enjoyed every single minute, and I would like to do it all again, but of course I can't, ever. What a depressing thought."

"You silly little thing. Why be depressed because you can't have a second wedding before you've even finished your first. Here, have some tea. Mother said you must while you were changing."

"The whole of to-day has been nothing but eating queer foods at queer times, and saying thank you and dressing and undressing. I'm sorry to take my frock off and leave it behind."

"Never mind. We'll have the neck cut a little lower while you're away and you can wear it for your first proper dinner-party when you come home."

"Isn't it odd that I'm not coming home, Drusilla. I mean that I'm going to another house with Hugh."

"It's beastly. I'll probably get married myself now."

"I don't think you'd better. It would be such a blow for the two poor dear lambs."

"Jessica, what cheek! Do you mean that I'm to be an elderly spinster just so that you can leave the parents with a clear conscience."

"I'm not leaving them with a clear conscience. I wish I were, but I feel awful about Daddy."

"Don't worry. He loves Hugh you know. We're bound to feel damnably flat when the people go and we realise we're alone, but we'll get over it all right."

"Please don't get over it entirely, Drusilla. I would like to know you were missing me. Oh, Marjorie, come in."

Marjorie Sellars kissed Jessica perfunctorily. "Well, it was all very nice," she said. "I must say I liked all that gold much better than I expected to. But Mrs. Greene says she would have preferred a white wedding so I'm afraid you've put your foot in it, Jessica."

"What nonsense," said Drusilla irritably. "It doesn't matter a scrap whether she approved or not."

"I don't really mind at all." Jessica's voice was carefree. "She doesn't know much about clothes, so I don't mind and Lavinia who does know, liked it awfully."

"Lavinia looked very nice, I thought," said Marjorie. "But your other sister-in-law, Helen, is very plain, isn't she?"

Jessica and Drusilla gasped.

"You're mad, Marjorie," said Jessica quietly. "You must surely see that she's definitely attractive?"

"Not at all; I always think red hair is a little vulgar," said Marjorie briskly. "But surely it's time you were dressed, isn't it? When's your train?"

"Not till 4.45, I think, and I'm just going to dress."

There was a knock at the door and Lavinia came in.

"I won't stay," she began, "I'm sure you don't want me, now, but I had to come and tell you how nicely it all went. You looked lovely, Jessica dear."

Jessica grasped her hand.

"How nice you are, Lavinia," she said. "Not a bit like a sister-in-law. Did you really like it?"

"Of course I did, immensely; so did everyone."

Another knock heralded the entrance of the five grown-up bridesmaids who filled the room with their shining frocks and huge bouquets.

"Good Lord," said one, "she hasn't begun to dress yet. I say, you must hurry, Jessica; people are all lining up the stairs to see you come down, but you'll never get through the mob."

"Well, I shan't hurry down, anyhow," said Jessica serenely, pulling off her frock. "And I won't be a minute, now, I haven't got to change my underclothes."

"Here are your stockings and shoes, darling," said Drusilla, and Lavinia snatched a shoe out of her hand with a little exclamation of pleasure.

"Oh, I do like these lizards. They're beautifully marked."

"Here, do let me put it on," said Jessica. "And tell me, do you think it will matter if I stop on the way down to say goodbye to anyone I specially like. I do want to have a word with Daddy in the hall."

"You ought to rush down," said another of the bridesmaids, "as if you were overwhelmed with maidenly confusion and escaping from the plaudits of the crowd."

"I shan't," said Jessica in a muffled voice as she drew her frock over her head.

"Well, I think it will look nice if she goes slowly," commented a third. "And it's a lovely going-away frock."

"Now give me my hat," said Jessica, just as two quiet knocks sounded on the door. Her face flamed. "There's Hugh," she said. "All go away now; I'll be down in a minute. Good bye, my dears, and thank you all for being my bridesmaids."

"Good-bye and good luck, Jessica," said Marjorie, crisply, following the shining flock. "Good-bye, Jessica, dear, have a lovely honeymoon," said Lavinia, and kissed Hugh as he stood embarrassed in the doorway.

"Don't go, Drusilla; I haven't said good-bye to you."

Jessica's mouth trembled, but as Hugh came over to her, she smiled at him and forgot the pain of parting with Drusilla.

"I'm ready," she said. "Shall we go now, Hugh? Take my hand and let's go slowly. I hate the way they push and run sometimes."

Drusilla went in front to clear a passage, and Hugh and Jessica followed slowly down, saying: "Good-bye, Good-bye--Thank you--It's been lovely--Good-bye--Yes, we've really enjoyed it ourselves--Good-bye and thank you."

Mr. and Mrs. Rodney Greene were standing on the first landing. Jessica stopped to kiss them.

"Good-bye," she said. "I'll keep Hugh happy," and went on downstairs.

When she met Mrs. Deane a little lower down the pause was longer.

"Is Daddy at the front door?" she asked.

"Yes, darling, he's waiting for you."

"Good-bye, Mother; write to me lots and don't be depressed."

"Of course, I won't, dear child. Good-bye, Hugh; take care of her."

Another kiss and they started down again. The hall was crowded but Drusilla forged steadily on in front and suddenly Jessica saw her father on the top step. Dropping Hugh's hand she ran to him and clung round his neck.

"I hate leaving you. I wish you could come too," she whispered. "Keep on thinking of me all the time, Daddy."

"Be happy," said Mr. Deane. "Have a happy time and don't bother about us. We'll miss you, but we'll manage all right. Where's Hugh got to?"

"I'm here, sir," Hugh answered happily, elbowing his friends to one side and gaining a foothold on the top step. "Good-bye, and thank you. I'll take care of Jessica."

"Good-bye, Hugh; you're all right. And now good-bye, my darling girl."

Mr. Deane helped her into the car, and Hugh jumped in beside her, but just before they started Jessica leaned out of the window and kissed her father again.

"I do love you, Daddy," she said. "And I am so happy."

"Splendid," said Mr. Deane, stoutly. "Splendid. Good luck to you both."

He stood on the kerb as the car moved away, the steps behind him crowded with waving guests, and then turned and went smiling into the house, answering questions, laughing and joking. But he was conscious of a keen and biting pain when he remembered that the first nineteen years of Jessica's life had gone like a leaf before the wind, and at their next meeting she would be no longer Jessica, daughter of Anthony Deane, but Jessica, wife of Hugh Beckett Greene.

ET CETERA

ET CETERA

I

On the morning of her dinner party for the five other Mrs. Greenes, Mrs. Rodney Greene indulged in a spate of telephone calls. Her first one, to Lavinia, was in the nature of an appeal for help.

"Lavinia dear," she began as soon as she got through, "I want you to help me a little to-night. It's too bad that Martin can't come; we're very disappointed that he won't be back till to-morrow but of course business must come first."

"He's very sorry too, but he simply can't help it."

"No, I quite understand. But about to-night, will you be rather specially attentive to Aunt Dora?"

"Oh Mother, I'm not very good with her."

"Nonsense! She's quite fond of you in her own way, and you know she feels a little hurt that Helen has never taken any trouble about her, and now she is annoyed by something that happened at Jessica's wedding, so you must just step into the breach, my dear."

"I know what happened at the wedding. She came late and got put into a back seat."

Lavinia's laugh rang clearly into the telephone, but Mrs. Rodney frowned anxiously as she answered: "Well, whatever it was I don't want it to crop up to-night, and if you'll just sit beside her after dinner and see that she doesn't feel neglected I'm sure everything will be quite all right."

"Very well, Mother, I'll try, but I don't think it will be very easy."

"My dear child, how absurd you are. Everything will be perfectly easy and smooth. It ought to be a very pleasant little party. Tell me, what frock are you wearing?"

"I haven't really thought. My new black I expect."

"Oh not black, dear. Don't you think yourself black is rather a pity?"

There was no answer.

"What did you say, dear?" asked Mrs. Rodney.

"I didn't say anything, Mother." Lavinia's voice sounded annoyed.

"Darling, surely you don't mind my just suggesting one of your pretty pale frocks rather than a black one?"

"I don't quite know what you mean by black being 'rather a pity'."

"It's only that I want you to look your best, you silly child, and a pale colour is so much younger and more gay. Besides, I'll be wearing black. Now don't forget Aunt Dora, will you, and remember that dinner is at quarter to eight. Your Grannie doesn't like it later. Good-bye till this evening."

She rang off, and sat at her desk for a moment, looking faintly disturbed, before putting on a call to Jessica.

"Hullo, who's there?" asked a brusque voice.

"Can I speak to Mrs. Hugh please? Mrs. Rodney speaking."

"I don't know where Mrs. Greene is, but I'll look for her if you'll wait a minute. Who did you say it was?"

"It's Mrs. Rodney Greene to speak to Mrs. Hugh if you please."

Edith spoke icily with an accent of rebuke, but the voice replied quite undaunted.

"Well hold on then, I'll look for her."

There was a long wait. Edith sat holding the receiver jotting down items on her shopping list, until ultimately she heard Jessica's voice.

"Hullo, is that you, Mrs. Greene?"

"Good morning, Jessica. I hope everything is all right with you? I just wanted a word with you about to-night. You're wearing your wedding frock of course?"

"Oh, do you want me to? I meant to wear my yellow georgette. I thought the wedding frock would be too dressed up just for a family party."

"I hardly think so, Jessica. After all the dinner is for you, and I think it would be a nice little courtesy to wear your gold tissue."

"Is the party really for me? How awful!"

This time it was Mrs. Rodney who maintained a silence of sheer annoyance.

"I don't mean 'awful' of course, I only mean rather frightening."

Jessica's voice was anxious as if she were conscious of having offended, but Mrs. Rodney replied briskly and coldly:

"There's no need to be frightened. It's very foolish of you. We only want to welcome you into the family."

"Thank you very much; of course I'll wear my gold."

"Well, we'll see you this evening then and don't be late. Grannie likes dinner to be very punctual. By the way, Jessica, you really must train your maid to answer the telephone properly."

A faint gasp fluttered along the wire. "Oh must I? I don't know how to."

"It's perfectly easy. You've only got to tell her exactly what to say when she takes the receiver off, and incidentally you might remind her to call you Mrs. Hugh, there are too many of us all to be Mrs. Greenes."

"I'll try, but it's terribly difficult. She is so much older and more severe than I am."

"I see I'll have to take you in hand a little my dear, but never mind now. Good-bye till to-night."

The faintly perturbed frown was still on Mrs. Rodney's face as she rang up Helen, and it deepened when a polite voice answered her request to speak to Mrs. Geoffrey. "I'm sorry, Madam, but Mrs. Geoffrey is engaged in her studio, and gave orders that she wasn't to be disturbed before eleven."

"But it's Mrs. Rodney Greene speaking."

"Could you ring up again in about half an hour, Madam, or shall I ask Mrs. Geoffrey to ring you?"

"No, I'll leave it now."

"Thank you Madam." The polite voice died away, and Mrs. Rodney petulantly pushed the telephone aside as her husband came into the room.

"Nothing wrong, Edith, I hope?" he asked, noticing her look of irritation.

"No, nothing, thank you, dear. Only sometimes I get a little cross with all the children's airs and graces."

"I shouldn't let them worry you. You've got enough to do without bothering over them. The car's here and I'm just starting to fetch Mother. We ought to be back in good time for lunch, and by the way dear, do you think we ought to send the car for Dora to-night?"

Edith raised her eyebrows.

"I've arranged to do that of course," she said in a slightly pained voice, "I'm just going to ring up Dora and let her know."

"Splendid; that's quite all right. Well I must be off now. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, Rodney. Be sure the warm rug is in the car for your Mother."

Mrs. Rodney sat staring out of the window until the sound of the front door being shut disturbed her thoughts. Then she smoothed her hair, sat very upright in her chair, pulled the telephone once again towards her, and rang up Mrs. Edwin.

"Hullo, who are you?" she heard her sister-in-law ask.

"Good morning, Dora. It's Edith speaking. How are you?"

Her voice was unusually cordial, as if she hoped to establish a cheerful atmosphere even through the awkward medium of the telephone where her deliberately bright smile was lost.

"I'm not feeling very well thank you, Edith. This week is always a particularly trying one for me you know, and the strain seems to be telling on me more than usual this year."

"What do you say?"

"I say the strain is telling on me more than usual this year. What a bad connection this is."

"Yes, isn't it? I'm so sorry, but what did you say you were telling me?"

"I don't know what you mean, Edith. Hullo, are you there? This is a disgraceful connection. I only said I was feeling the strain of this week very badly."

"Oh! yes of course, I do sympathise with you, Dora. It's a sad time for you I know. I just wanted a word with you about to-night."

"Really, Edith, I don't know that I shall be able to face a party to-night."

"What do you say?"

"I said that I didn't really know whether I would be able to come to-night or not."

"Oh that's better now. I can hear you quite clearly. Well I do hope you'll manage to-night. We'll all be so disappointed if you can't. The children are looking forward to seeing you, and I know Grannie and Aunt Sarah are counting on it too."

"I don't flatter myself that the children, as you call them, care one way or the other about me."

"Oh! that's rubbish, Dora. We all hope you will come. Now, may I send the car for you?"

"Don't trouble, thank you very much. It is not the lack of a car that's preventing me coming."

"No of course not, I quite understand. But I really rang up just to offer you the car. Dinner is a little early you see because of the old ladies, and I thought it might be a convenience."

"Very kind of you I'm sure. But as it happens I've made my own arrangements. My friend Mrs. Blythe asked me several days ago to use her car both for going and coming."

"That's very nice then. I'm so glad you feel able to come after all."

"I don't know that I do really. I haven't felt quite myself since Jessica's wedding. The church was very draughty near the door and I got badly chilled."

"That's too bad. However, we will expect you to-night; it will be very nice to see you. Good-bye till then."

"What, Edith?"

"I said we would expect you to-night at quarter to eight. Good-bye for the present."

"But Edith, hullo Edith, are you still there? I was just explaining that I don't feel well enough to come."

"I'm so sorry, the telephone is really intolerable to-day, I didn't catch what you said."

"I said I wasn't feeling quite myself."

"Well, we'll all be most disappointed, Dora, but of course if you don't feel well enough, you're much wiser to stay at home."

"But I'd be sorry to disappoint you all. As I said before, it's a pity you chose this date for your party, but still, I must make the effort and come, only don't expect me to be very bright."

"How nice of you; that really is delightful."

Mrs. Rodney tried to infuse a note of warmth into her voice, but as she heard Mrs. Edwin's voice beginning plaintively "Of course I must say---" she added loudly and hurriedly,

"Well, au revoir, and I'm sure you'll be none the worse of it," and rang off.

Exasperated and depressed she got up and walked up and down the room in a state of uncharacteristic agitation. She was beset by minor difficulties: Lavinia's annoyance at the merest hint of what to wear; Jessica unable to manage her servant, in need of help and guidance, but quite probably ready to resent both; Dora in her most tiresome and difficult mood.

Mrs. Rodney sighed impatiently and rang the bell. When the butler appeared she sat down again at her desk, took up a list and ran through it.

"About dinner to-night, there are one or two things to arrange. First of all, Rayner, I want you to be on the upper landing to show everyone into the drawing-room. Evans must open the front door, but I specially want you to announce everyone in full. Mrs. Greene is staying in the house but I want her announced too, and be careful just to call her Mrs. Greene, and to give the others their full names. You know Mrs. Hugh Greene of course, but young Mr. Hugh and his wife must be announced as Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Beckett Greene."

"I quite understand, Madam. There will be Mrs. Greene, Mrs. Hugh Greene, Mrs. Edwin Greene, Mr. and Mrs. Geoffrey Greene and Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Beckett Greene."

"Yes, that's right. I'll order flowers for the table when I'm out this morning, and I want the Lowestoft service and the Wedgwood fruit plates of course. It's a family dinner, but in a way it's a celebration."

She smiled at Rayner, confident of his interest in everything pertaining to the family.

"I'll see to everything myself, Madam," he assured her.

"Mr. Greene has told you what champagne to bring up?" she asked.

"Yes Madam, but young Mrs. Hugh never takes champagne. Should I open a bottle of Chablis for her?"

"No, certainly not. She must take a little to-night."

"Thank you, Madam. Cook desired me to ask you if you would care for the ice pudding to be shaped like a bell and garnished with orange blossom. She can make a nice sugar wreath to decorate the dish."

"What a good idea. Yes, tell cook that will be very nice, and that it is very good of her to have thought out a little compliment for Miss Jessica. I think that's all, thank you."

An expression of satisfaction had chased away her frown. She was pleased that the servants at least should throw themselves so keenly into a family affair, even though the fact of their doing so sharpened her annoyance at her children's aloof unresponsiveness.

The telephone rang shrilly. Probably Dora, she thought, and took off the receiver reluctantly, but it was Helen's voice that said:

"Hullo, Mrs. Greene, is that you? Margaret told me you'd rung up while I was working. I'm sorry she didn't interrupt me; she ought to have known I'd speak to you to-day."

Mrs. Rodney was mollified by the flattering implication in Helen's words but she hoped for a further confirmation when she answered provocatively:

"Good morning, my dear. It was a little annoying of course, but still you mustn't make an exception of me."

Helen's reply was casual but final.

"I couldn't ordinarily. But to-day is rather special, isn't it."

Piqued as she was at not being given preferential treatment, Mrs. Rodney was so delighted with Helen for realising the importance of the occasion, that she decided to ignore the other point in the meantime. It could always be brought up later.

"I'm so glad you think so, dear," she said warmly. "It certainly is a special occasion from my point of view. Tell me, what are you thinking of wearing?"

"My silver and white brocade. It's much the grandest frock I've got, so what could be more suitable?"

Mrs. Rodney wondered momentarily if there was a faint note of mockery in Helen's tones, but decided that it must be due to the telephone.

"That's delightful. You always look so nice in it. And Helen dear, don't be late at all, will you. It worries Grannie if dinner is a minute later than quarter to eight."

"No, we won't be late I promise. I'll let Geoffrey drive the car."

"Do, Helen, I'm sure it's wiser."

"Was there anything else you wanted, Mrs. Greene?"

"No, nothing. I only thought I'd remind you about the hour."

"Well, good-bye Mrs. Greene, and good luck with your stage managing. I hope the production will be good."

"Helen, hullo Helen, don't go yet. Tell me what you mean, dear?"

Again a faint doubt of Helen's good faith crossed Mrs. Rodney's mind, but she was reassured by Helen's calm explanation.

"I mean about to-night. You'll have to stage manage the whole affair, and I'm sure it will go beautifully. I propose to enjoy myself enormously as one of the humbler members of the caste."

"Oh I see," Mrs. Rodney resolutely stilled her doubts, and went on playfully: "Of course a good hostess always has to stage manage a little, and even more in a family party. Good-bye, dear child, till this evening, and don't be late."

Going upstairs to put on her hat Edith Greene's mind was busy over the choice of flowers for the table. White flowers seemed to her the most ceremonial but she rejected chrysanthemums as being too clumsy and lilies of the valley as being reminiscent of the sick room. I must strike the right note with my flowers, she thought. I want the whole thing to be sufficiently important. Lilies, of course, Madonna lilies, so suitable both for old Mrs. Greene and Jessica; they would be exactly right.

Her face cleared and she went briskly out, confident that the scene was set for the evening's play.

II

It was only twenty-five to eight when Rayner opened the door to Lavinia.

"You are early, Madam," he said as he took her cloak, "I don't think anyone is down yet."

"I know I am; I wondered if there was a chance of seeing Grannie before the others arrived. Do you suppose she will be down soon?"

"I don't know at all, but I can send Mary up to tell her you are here."

"Yes do, Rayner; go and tell her now, I'll go up to the drawing-room."

On the upper landing Lavinia stopped to look at her reflection, tiny and faintly distorted, in a small convex mirror that had delighted her as a child.

She was wearing for the first time, in deference to her Mother's wishes, a yellow velvet frock, quite plain, very full skirted, and, in the fashion of the moment, short in front but dipping almost to the ground behind.

Suddenly she took her wide skirt in either hand, and curtsied very low to her own image. The mirror was flooded with the yellow of her frock, but as she rose and straightened herself the small grotesque reflection was re-established.

The drawing-room was in darkness except for the leaping firelight but she switched on the small lamp beside the fire, and sat down thinking dreamily how pretty it would be if a group of ladies in long old-fashioned frocks were to assemble there that night.

We would have to kiss Grannie's hand and Mother's too I suppose, and Helen and Jessica and I would curtsey very low to each other and say "Sister," and "Your servant, Sister." And there would be so much swaying and rustling of silks that it would seem like sixty Mrs. Greenes instead of six.

She sighed as she looked forward to the evening ahead.

Really it will be quite ordinary, she decided; a little flutter of excitement as each one comes in and then perfectly ordinary conversation. Aunt Sarah rather prim, and Grannie very crisp, and Aunt Dora pretty doleful, and Mother managing everything, and keeping us all in our proper places.

She stood up, and leaning against the mantel-piece looked round the shadowy room. Everything was orderly: the soft puce curtains hung in beautifully symmetrical folds, a bowl of giant chrysanthemums stood on a table, each petal tightly curled, the firelight shone on a vivid Chinese vase standing on a little lacquer cabinet between the windows.

An air of stillness and expectation hung over the room.

It's a lovely setting, Lavinia decided suddenly. After all there may be an atmosphere about this evening. Grannie is very old and Jessica is very young, and nearly all the happiness and unhappiness that lies in the years between them is bound up with the Greene family. Perhaps that will make Grannie younger and Jessica older, so that they will become alike and indistinguishable.

She shivered a little. I'm glad I'm out of it, she thought. This family feeling frightens me. I should hate to feel myself becoming akin to Aunt Dora.

Rayner came into the room, switching on the lights so that all the details of colour and form suddenly sprang into being.

"Mrs. Greene will be down in a moment," he said.

"Thank you," said Lavinia absently. "Rayner, it's going to be very odd to-night."

"I hope not, Madam, I'm sure."

"Yes, it's bound to be odd; I shall feel like the only human in a company of poor ghosts."

_Arosa, December 1927.--Geneva, May 1928._