“Yes, Aunt Em?”

“Did you keep what you cut off?”

“I did.”

“Well, don’t let it go out of the family; you may want it. They say we’re goin’ to be old-fashioned again. Ancient but modern, you know.”

Sir Lawrence cocked his eye. “Have you ever been anything else, Dinny? That’s why I want you to sit. Permanence of the type.”

“What type?” said Lady Mont. “Don’t be a type, Dinny; they’re so dull. There was a man said Michael was a type; I never could see it.”

“Why don’t you get Aunt Em to sit instead, Uncle? She’s younger than I am any day, aren’t you, Auntie?”

“Don’t be disrespectful. Blore, my Vichy.”

“Uncle, how old is Bobbie?”

“No one really knows. Rising sixty, perhaps. Some day, I suppose, his date will be discovered; but they’ll have to cut a section and tell it from his rings. You’re not thinking of marrying him, are you, Dinny? By the way, Walter’s a widower. Quaker blood somewhere, converted Liberal—inflammable stuff.”

“Dinny takes a lot of wooin’,” said Lady Mont.

“Can I get down, Aunt Em? I want to go to Michael’s.”

“Tell her I’m comin’ to see Kit tomorrow mornin’. I’ve got him a new game called Parliament—they’re animals divided into Parties; they all squeak and roar differently, and behave in the wrong places. The Prime Minister’s a zebra, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s a tiger—striped. Blore, a taxi for Miss Dinny.”

Michael was at the House, but Fleur was in. She reported that Mr. Blythe’s preface had already been sent to Bobbie Ferrar. As for the Bolivians—the Minister was not back, but the Attachй in charge had promised to have an informal talk with Bobbie. He had been so polite that Fleur was unable to say what was in his mind. She doubted if there was anything.

Dinny returned on as many tenterhooks as ever. It all seemed to hinge on Bobbie Ferrar, and he ‘rising’ sixty, so used to everything that he must surely have lost all persuasive flame. But perhaps that was for the best. Emotional appeal might be wrong. Coolness, calculation, the power of hinting at unpleasant consequences, of subtly suggesting advantage, might be what was wanted. She felt, indeed, completely at sea as to what really moved the mind of Authority. Michael, Fleur, Sir Lawrence had spoken from time to time as if they knew, and yet she felt that none of them were really wiser than herself. It all seemed to balance on the knife-edge of mood and temper. She went to bed and had practically no sleep.

One more day like that, and then, as a sailor, whose ship has been in the doldrums, wakes to movement under him, so felt Dinny when at breakfast she opened an unstamped envelope with “Foreign Office” imprinted on it.

So! A whole day to get through first! By now ‘Walter’ must have read the diary; had perhaps already made up his mind on the case! With the receipt of that formal note, a feeling of being in conspiracy and pledged to secrecy had come to her. Instinctively she said nothing of it; instinctively wanted to get away from everybody till all was over. This must be like waiting for an operation. She walked out into a fine morning, and wondered where on earth she should go; thought of the National Gallery, and decided that pictures required too much mind given to them; thought of Westminster Abbey and the girl Millicent Pole. Fleur had got her a post as mannequin at Frivolle’s. Why not go there, look at the winter models, and perhaps see that girl again? Rather hateful being shown dresses if you were not going to buy, giving all that trouble for nothing. But if only Hubert were released she would ‘go off the deep end’ and buy a real dress, though it took all her next allowance. Hardening her heart, therefore, she turned in the direction of Bond Street, forded that narrow drifting river, came to Frivolle’s, and went in.

“Yes, Madam”; and she was shown up, and seated on a chair. She sat there with her head a little on one side, smiling and saying pleasant things to the saleswoman; for she remembered one day in a big shop an assistant saying: “You’ve no idea, Moddam, what a difference it makes to us when a customer smiles and takes a little interest. We get so many difficult ladies and—oh! well—” The models were very ‘late,’ very expensive, and mostly, she thought, very unbecoming, in spite of the constant assurance: “This frock would just suit you, Madam, with your figure and colouring.”

Not sure whether to ask after her would harm or benefit the girl Millicent Pole, she selected two dresses for parade. A very thin girl, haughty, with a neat little head and large shoulder blades came wearing the first, a creation in black and white; she languished across with a hand on where one hip should have been, and her head turned as if looking for the other, confirming Dinny in the aversion she already had from the dress. Then, in the second dress, of sea green and silver, the one that she really liked except for its price, came Millicent Pole. With professional negligence she took no glance at the client, as who should say: “What do you think! If you lived in underclothes all day—and had so many husbands to avoid!” Then, in turning, she caught Dinny’s smile, answered it with a sudden startled brightness, and moved across again, languid as ever. Dinny got up, and going over to that figure now standing very still, took a fold of the skirt between finger and thumb, as if to feel its quality.

“Nice to see you again.”

The girl’s loose flower-like mouth smiled very sweetly. ‘She’s marvellous!’ thought Dinny.

“I know Miss Pole,” she said to the saleswoman. “That dress looks awfully nice on her.”

“Oh! but Madam, it’s your style completely. Miss Pole has a little too much line for it. Let me slip it on you.”

Not sure that she had been complimented, Dinny said:

“I shan’t be able to decide today; I’m not sure I can afford it.”

“That is quite all right, Madam. Miss Pole, just come in here and slip it off, and we’ll slip it on Madam.”

In there the girl slipped it off. ‘Even more marvellous,’ thought Dinny: ‘Wish I looked as nice as that in undies,’ and suffered her own dress to be removed.

“Madam is beautifully slim,” said the saleswoman.

“Thin as a rail!”

“Oh, no, Madam is well covered.”

“I think she’s just right!” The girl spoke with a sort of eagerness. “Madam has style.”

The saleswoman fastened the hook.

“Perfect,” she said. “A little fullness here, perhaps; we can put that right.”

“Rather a lot of my skin,” murmured Dinny.

“Oh! But so becoming, with a skin like Madam’s.”

“Would you let me see Miss Pole in that other frock—the black and white?”

This she said, knowing that the girl could not be sent to fetch it in her underclothes.

“Certainly; I’ll get it at once. Attend to Madam, Miss Pole.”

Left to themselves, the two girls stood smiling at each other.

“How do you like it now you’ve got it, Millie?”

“Well, it isn’t all I thought, Miss.”

“Empty?”

“I expect nothing’s what you think it. Might be a lot worse, of course.”

“It was you I came in to see.”

“Did you reely? But I hope you’ll have the dress, Miss—suits you a treat. You look lovely in it.”

“They’ll be putting you in the sales department, Millie, if you don’t look out.”

“Oh! I wouldn’t go there. It’s nothing but a lot of soft sawder.”

“Where do I unhook?”

“Here. It’s very economic—only one. And you can do it for yourself, with a wriggle. I read about your brother, Miss. I do think that’s a shame.”