The few seconds that intervened were employed by her in
saying just one kind word to everybody. Tonight, however, these
gratifying utterances had not been received with the gratified
responses to which she was accustomed: there was a different atmosphere
abroad, and it was as if she were no more than one-eighth of the entire
party.... But it would never do to hurry Foljambe, who was a little
upset already by the fact of there being eight to dinner, which was two
more than she approved of.
Lucia was on Georgie's right, Mrs Colonel as she had decided to call
herself, on his left. Next her was Peppino, then Mrs Quantock, then
the Colonel, then Mrs Rumbold (who resembled a grey hungry mouse), and
Mr Quantock completed the circle round to Lucia again. Everyone had a
small bunch of violets in the napkin, but Lucia had the largest. She
had also a footstool.
"Capital good soup," remarked Mr Quantock. "Can't get soup like this at
home."
There was dead silence. Why was there never a silence when Olga was
there, wondered Georgie. It wasn't because she talked, she somehow
caused other people to talk.
"Tommy Luton hasn't got measles," said Mrs Weston. "I always said he
hadn't, though there are measles about. He came to walk as usual this
morning, and is going to sing in the carols tonight."
She suddenly stopped.
Georgie gave an imploring glance at Foljambe, and looked at the
champagne glasses.
Pages:
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316