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come。〃
At the entrance of the two ladies； there rose at once a faint buzz
and murmur。 Lady Valleys； whose ample presence radiated suddenly a
businesslike and cheery confidence； went to a bedside and sat down。
But Barbara stood in a thin streak of the July sunlight； uncertain
where to begin； amongst the faces turned towards her。 The poor dears
looked so humble； and so wistful； and so tired。 There was one lying
quite flat； who had not even raised her head to see who had come in。
That slumbering； pale； high cheek…boned face had a frailty as if a
touch； a breath； would shatter it； a wisp of the blackest hair； finer
than silk； lay across the forehead； the closed eyes were deep sunk；
one hand； scarred almost to the bone with work； rested above her
breast。 She breathed between lips which had no colour。 About her；
sleeping； was a kind of beauty。 And there came over the girl a queer
rush of emotion。 The sleeper seemed so apart from everything there；
from all the formality and stiffness of the ward。 To look at her
swept away the languid； hollow feeling with which she had come in； it
made her think of the tors at home； when the wind was blowing； and
all was bare； and grand； and sometimes terrible。 There was something
elemental in that still sleep。 And the old lady in the next led；
with a brown wrinkled face and bright black eyes brimful of life；
seemed almost vulgar beside such remote tranquillity； while she was
telling Barbara that a little bunch of heather in the better half of
a soap…dish on the window…sill had come from Wales； because； as she
explained： 〃My mother was born in Stirling； dearie； so I likes a bit
of heather； though I never been out o' Bethnal Green meself。〃
But when Barbara again passed； the sleeping woman was sitting up； and
looked but a poor ordinary thingher strange fragile beauty all
withdrawn。
It was a relief when Lady Valleys said：
〃My dear； my Naval Bazaar at five…thirty； and while I'm there you
must go home and have a rest； and freshen yourself up for the
evening。 We dine at Plassey House。〃
The Duchess of Gloucester's Ball； a function which no one could very
well miss； had been fixed for this late date owing to the Duchess's
announced desire to prolong the season and so help the hackney
cabmen； and though everybody sympathized； it had been felt by most
that it would be simpler to go away； motor up on the day of the Ball；
and motor down again on the following morning。 And throughout the
week by which the season was thus prolonged； in long rows at the
railway stations； and on their stands； the hackney cabmen；
unconscious of what was being done for them； waited； patient as their
horses。 But since everybody was making this special effort； an
exceptionally large； exclusive； and brilliant company reassembled at
Gloucester House。
In the vast ballroom over the medley of entwined revolving couples；
punkahs had been fixed； to clear and freshen the languid air； and
these huge fans； moving with incredible slowness； drove a faint
refreshing draught down over the sea of white shirt…fronts and bare
necks； and freed the scent from innumerable flowers。
Late in the evening； close by one of the great clumps of bloom； a
very pretty woman stood talking to Bertie Caradoc。 She was his
cousin； Lily Malvezin； sister of Geoffrey Winlow； and wife of a
Liberal peer； a charming creature； whose pink cheeks； bright eyes；
quick lips； and rounded figure； endowed her with the prettiest air of
animation。 And while she spoke she kept stealing sly glances at her
partner； trying as it were to pierce the armour of that self…
contained young man。
〃No； my dear；〃 she said in her mocking voice； 〃you'll never persuade
me that Miltoun is going to catch on。 'Il est trop intransigeant'。
Ah！ there's Babs！〃
For the girl had come gliding by； her eyes wandering lazily； her lips
just parted； her neck； hardly less pale than her white frock； her
face pale； and marked with languor； under the heavy coil of her tawny
hair； and her swaying body seeming with each turn of the waltz to be
caught by the arms of her partner from out of a swoon。
With that immobility of lips； learned by all imprisoned in Society；
Lily Malvezin murmured：
〃Who's that she's dancing with？ Is it the dark horse； Bertie？〃
Through lips no less immobile Bertie answered：
〃Forty to one； no takers。〃
But those inquisitive bright eyes still followed Barbara； drifting in
the dance； like a great waterlily caught in the swirl of a mill pool；
and the thought passed through that pretty head：
〃She's hooked him。 It's naughty of Babs； really！〃 And then she saw
leaning against a pillar another whose eyes also were following those
two； and she thought： 〃H'm！ Poor Claudno wonder he's looking like
that。 Oh！ Babs！〃
By one of the statues on the terrace Barbara and her partner stood；
where trees； disfigured by no gaudy lanterns； offered the refreshment
of their darkness and serenity。
Wrapped in her new pale languor； still breathing deeply from the
waltz； she seemed to Courtier too utterly moulded out of loveliness。
To what end should a man frame speeches to a vision！ She was but an
incarnation of beauty imprinted on the air； and would fade out at a
touch…like the sudden ghosts of enchantment that came to one under
the blue； and the starlit snow of a mountain night； or in a birch
wood all wistful golden！ Speech seemed but desecration！ Besides；
what of interest was there for him to say in this world of hers； so
bewildering and of such glib assurancethis world that was like a
building； whose every window was shut and had a blind drawn down。 A
building that admitted none who had not sworn； as it were； to believe
it the world； the whole world； and nothing but the world； outside
which were only the nibbled remains of what had built it。 This；
world of Society； in which he felt like one travelling through a
desert； longing to meet a fellow…creature。
The voice of Harbinger behind them said：
〃Lady…Babs！〃
Long did the punkahs waft their breeze over that brave…hued wheel of
pleasure； and the sound of the violins quaver and wail out into the
morning。 Then quickly； as the spangles of dew vanish off grass when
the sun rises； all melted away； and in the great rooms were none but
flunkeys presiding over the polished surfaces like flamingoes by some
lakeside at dawn。
CHAPTER III
A brick dower…house of the Fitz…Harolds； just outside the little
seaside town of Nettlefold； sheltered the tranquil days of Lord
Dennis。 In that south…coast air； sanest and most healing in all
England； he raged very slowly； taking little thought of death； and
much quiet pleasure in his life。 Like the tall old house with its
high windows and squat chimneys； he was marvellously self…contained。
His books； for he somewhat passionately examined old civilizations；
and described their habits from time to time with a dry and not too
poignant pen in a certain old…fashioned magazine； his microscope； for
he studied infusoria； and the fishing boat of his friend John Bogle；
who had long perceived that Lord Dennis was the biggest fish he ever
caught； all these； with occasional visitors； a