out of it, because my husband is a witness. Georgie, give me a cigarette.”
In a moment Riseholme-Georgie had his cigarette-case open.
“Do take one of mine,” he said, “I’m Georgie too.”
“You don’t say so! Let’s send it to the Psychical Research, or whoever those people are who collect coincidences and say it’s spooks. And a match please, one of you Georgies. Oh, how I should like never to see the inside of an Opera House again. Why mayn’t I grow on the walls of a garden like this, or better still, why shouldn’t I have a house and garden of my own here, and sing on the village-green, and ask for halfpennies? Tell me what happens here! I’ve always lived in town since the time a hook-nosed Hebrew, rather like Lady Ambermere, took me out of the gutter.”
“My dear!” said Mr Shuttleworth.
“Well, out of an orphan-school at Brixton and I would much prefer the gutter. That’s all about my early life just now, because I am keeping it for my memoirs which I shall write when my voice becomes a little more like a steam-whistle. But don’t tell Lady Ambermere, for she would have a fit, but say you happen to know that I belong to the Surrey Bracelys. So I do; Brixton is on the Surrey side. Oh, my dear, look at the sun. It’s behaving like the best sort of Claude! Heile Sonne!”
“I heard you do that last May,” said Georgie.
“Then you heard a most second-rate performance,” said she. “But really being unlaced by that Thing, that great fat profligate beery Prussian was almost too much for me. And the duet! But it was very polite of you to come, and I will do better next time. Siegfried! Brunnhilde! Siegfried! Miaou! Miaou! Bring on the next lot of cats! Darling Georgie, wasn’t it awful? And you had proposed to me only the day before.”
“I was absolutely enchanted,” said Riseholme-Georgie.
“Yes, but then you didn’t have that Thing breathing beer into your innocent face.” Georgie rose; the first call on a stranger in Riseholme was never supposed to last more than half an hour, however much you were enjoying it, and never less, however bored you might be, and he felt sure he had already exceeded this.
“I must be off,” he said. “Too delightful to think that you and Mr Shuttleworth will come to lunch with me tomorrow. Half past one, shall we say?”
“Excellent; but where do you live?”
“Just across the green. Shall I call for you?” he asked.
“Certainly not. Why should you have that bother?” she said. “Ah, let me come with you to the inn-door, and perhaps you will shew me from there.”
She passed through the hall with him, and they stood together in the sight of all Riseholme, which was strolling about the green at this as at most other hours. Instantly all faces turned round in their direction, like so many sunflowers following the sun, while Georgie pointed out his particular mulberry tree. When everybody had had a good look, he raised his hat.
“A domani then,” she said. “So many thanks.”
And quite distinctly she kissed her hand to him as he turned away….
“So she talks Italian too,” thought Georgie, as he dropped little crumbs of information to his friends on his way to his house. “Domani, that means tomorrow. Oh yes; she was meaning lunch.”
It is hardly necessary to add that on the table in his hall there was one of Lucia’s commoner kinds of note, merely a half sheet folded together in her own manner. Georgie felt that it was scarcely more necessary to read it, for he felt quite sure that it contained some excuse for not coming to his house at six in order to call on Mr and Mrs Bracely. But he gave a glance at it before he rolled it up in a ball for Tipsipoozie to play with, and found its contents to be precisely what he expected, the excuse being that she had not done her practising. But the post-script was interesting, for it told him that she had asked Foljambe to give her his copy of Siegfried….
Georgie strolled down past The Hurst before dinner. Mozart was silent now, but there came out of the open windows the most amazing hash of sound, which he could just recognise as being the piano arrangement of the duet between Brunnhilde and Siegfried at the end. He would have been dull indeed if he had not instantly guessed what that signified.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A fresh thrill went through an atmosphere already super-saturated with excitement, when next morning all Lucia’s friends who had been bidden to the garden-party (Tightum) were rung up on the telephone and informed that the party was Hightum. That caused a good deal of extra work, because the Tightum robes had to be put away again, and the Hightums aired and brushed and valetted. But it was well worth it, for Riseholme had not the slightest difficulty in conjecturing that Olga Bracely was to be among the guests. For a cultured and artistic centre the presence of a star that blazed so regally in the very zenith of the firmament of art absolutely demanded the Hightum which the presence of poor Lady Ambermere (though she would not have liked that) had been powerless to bring out of their cupboards. And these delightful anticipations concentrated themselves into one rose-coloured point of joy, when no less than two independent observers, without collusion, saw the piano-tuner either entering or leaving The Hurst, while a third, an ear-witness, unmistakably heard the tuning of the piano actually going on. It was thus clear to all penetrating minds that Olga Bracely was going to sing. It was further known that something was going on between her and Georgie, for she had been heard by one Miss Antrobus to ask for Georgie’s number at the telephone in the Ambermere Arms. Etiquette forbade her actually to listen to what passed, but she could not help hearing Olga laugh at something (presumably) that Georgie said. He himself took no part in the green-parliament that morning, but had been seen to dash into the fruiterer’s and out again, before he went in a great hurry to The Hurst, shortly after twelve-thirty. Classes on Eastern philosophy under the tuition of Mrs Quantock’s Indian, were already beginning to be hinted at, but today in the breathless excitement about the prima-donna nobody cared about that; they might all have been taking lessons in cannibalism, and nobody would have been interested. Finally about one o’clock one of the motors in which the party had arrived yesterday drew up at the door of the Ambermere Arms, and presently Mr Bracely—no, dear, Mr Shuttleworth got in and drove off alone. That was very odd conduct in a lately-married bridegroom, and it was hoped that there had been no quarrel.
Olga had, of course, been given no directions as to Hightum or Tightum, and when she walked across to Georgie’s house shortly after half-past one only Mrs Weston who was going back home to lunch at top speed was aware that she was dressed in a very simple dark blue morning frock, that would almost have passed for Scrub. It is true that it was exceedingly well cut, and had not the look of having been rolled up in a ball and hastily ironed out again that usually distinguished Scrub, and she also wore a string of particularly fine pearls round her neck, the sort of ornament that in Riseholme would only be seen in an evening Hightum, even if anybody in Riseholme had owned such things. Lucia, not long ago had expressed the opinion that jewels were vulgar except at night, and for her part she wore none at all, preferring one Greek cameo of uncertain authenticity.
Georgie received Olga alone, for Hermy and Ursy were not yet back from their golf.
“It is good of you to let me come without my husband,” she said. “His excuse is toothache and he has driven into Brinton—”
“I’m very sorry,” said Georgie.
“You needn’t be, for now I’ll tell you his real reason. He thought that if he lunched with you he would have to come on to the garden party, and that he was absolutely determined not to do. You were the
