Having promenaded round the pitch and in front of the pavilion, they sought Winifred's table in the Bedouin Club tent. This Club--a new "cock and hen"--had been founded in the interests of travel, and of a gentleman with an old Scottish name, whose father had somewhat strangely been called Levi. Winifred had joined, not because she had travelled, but because instinct told her that a Club with such a name and such a founder was bound to go far; if one didn't join at once one might never have the chance. Its tent, with a text from the Koran on an orange ground, and a small green camel embroidered over the entrance, was the most striking on the ground. Outside it they found Jack Cardigan in a dark blue tie (he had once played for Harrow), batting with a Malacca cane to show how that fellow ought to have hit that ball. He piloted them in. Assembled in Winifred's corner were Imogen, Benedict with his young wife, Val Dartie without Holly, Maud and her husband, and, after Soames and his two were seated, one empty place.
"I'm expecting Prosper," said Winifred, "but he's so busy with his yacht."Soames stole a glance. No movement in his wife's face! Whether that fellow were coming or not, she evidently knew all about it. It did not escape him that Fleur, too, looked at her mother. If Annette didn't respect his feelings, she might think of Fleur's! The conversation, very desultory, was syncopated by Jack Cardigan talking about "mid-off." He cited all the "great mid-offs" from the beginning of time, as if they had been a definite racial entity in the composition of the British people. Soames had finished his lobster, and was beginning on pigeon-pie, when he heard the words, "I'm a small bit late, Mrs. Dartie," and saw that there was no longer any empty place. That fellow was sitting between Annette and Imogen.
Soames ate steadily on, with an occasional word to Maud and Winifred.
Conversation buzzed around him. He heard the voice of Profond say:
"I think you're mistaken, Mrs. Forsyde; I'll--I'll bet Miss Forsyde agrees with me.""In what?" came Fleur's clear voice across the table.
"I was sayin', young gurls are much the same as they always were--there's very small difference.""Do you know so much about them?"
That sharp reply caught the ears of all, and Soames moved uneasily on his thin green chair.
"Well, I don't know, I think they want their own small way, and Ithink they always did.""Indeed!"
"Oh, but--Prosper,"Winifred interjected comfortably, "the girls in the streets--the girls who've been in munitions, the little flappers in the shops; their manners now really quite hit you in the eye."At the word "hit" Jack Cardigan stopped his disquisition; and in the silence Monsieur Profond said:
"It was inside before, now it's outside; that's all.""But their morals!" cried Imogen.
"Just as moral as they ever were, Mrs. Cardigan, but they've got more opportunity."The saying, so cryptically cynical, received a little laugh from Imogen, a slight opening of Jack Cardigan's mouth, and a creak from Soames' chair.
Winifred said: "That's too bad, Prosper.""What do you say, Mrs. Forsyde; don't you think human nature's always the same?"Soames subdued a sudden longing to get up and kick the fellow. He heard his wife reply:
"Human nature is not the same in England as anywhere else." That was her confounded mockery!
"Well, I don't know much about this small country"--'No, thank God!'
thought Soames--"but I should say the pot was boilin' under the lid everywhere. We all want pleasure, and we always did."Damn the fellow! His cynicism was--was outrageous!
When lunch was over they broke up into couples for the digestive promenade. Too proud to notice, Soames knew perfectly that Annette and that fellow had gone prowling round together. Fleur was with Val; she had chosen him, no doubt, because he knew that boy. He himself had Winifred for partner. They walked in the bright, circling stream, a little flushed and sated, for some minutes, till Winifred sighed:
"I wish we were back forty years, old boy!"Before the eyes of her spirit an interminable procession of her own "Lord's" frocks was passing, paid for with the money of her father, to save a recurrent crisis. "It's been very amusing, after all.
Sometimes I even wish Monty was back. What do you think of people nowadays, Soames?""Precious little style. The thing began to go to pieces with bicycles and motor-cars; the War has finished it.""I wonder what's coming?" said Winifred in a voice dreamy from pigeon-pie. "I'm not at all sure we shan't go back to crinolines and pegtops. Look at that dress!"Soames shook his head.
"There's money, but no faith in things. We don't lay by for the future. These youngsters--it's all a short life and a merry one with them.""There's a hat!" said Winifred. "I don't know--when you come to think of the people killed and all that in the War, it's rather wonderful, I think. There's no other country--Prosper says the rest are all bankrupt, except America; and of course her men always took their style in dress from us.""Is that chap," said Soames, "really going to the South Seas?""Oh! one never knows where Prosper's going!""He's a sign of the times," muttered Soames, "if you like."Winifred's hand gripped his arm.
"Don't turn your head," she said in a low voice, "but look to your right in the front row of the Stand."Soames looked as best he could under that limitation. A man in a grey top hat, grey-bearded, with thin brown, folded cheeks, and a certain elegance of posture, sat there with a woman in a lawn-coloured frock, whose dark eyes were fixed on himself. Soames looked quickly at his feet. How funnily feet moved, one after the other like that! Winifred's voice said in his ear:
