How, then, would the advent of Olga affect Riseholme's social
working generally, and how would it affect Lucia in particular? And
what would Lucia say when she knew on whose behalf Georgie was so busy
with plumbers and painters, and with buying so many of the desirable
treasures in the Ambermere Arms?
Frankly he could not answer these conundrums: they presupposed
inconceivable situations, which yet, though inconceivable, were shortly
coming to pass, for Olga's advent might be expected before October,
that season of tea-parties that ushered in the multifarious gaieties of
the winter. Would Olga form part of the moonlit circle to whom Lucia
played the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata, and give a long sigh
at the end like the rest of them? And would Lucia when they had all
recovered a little from the invariable emotion go to her and say, "Olga
mia, just a little bit out of the Valkyrie? It would be so pleasant."
Somehow Georgie, with all his imagination, could not picture such a
scene. And would Olga take the part of second citizenness or something
of the sort when Lucia played Portia? Would Olga join the elementary
class of Yoga, and be instructed by Lucia in her Teacher's Robe? Would
she sing treble in the Christmas Carols, while Lucia beat time, and
said in syllables dictated by the rhythm, "Trebles a little flat! My
poor ears!"? Georgie could not imagine any of these things, and yet,
unless Olga took no part in the social life of Riseholme at all (and
that was equally inconceivable) what was the alternative? True, she had
said that she was coming here because it was so ideally lazy a
backwater, but Georgie did not take that seriously.
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