be on her way to Land's End on 16th June; may she stay for two nights? Yes, she may. Robert does not seem pleased when I explain that he will have to vacate his dressing-room for Cissie Crabbe, as Rose will be occupying spare bedroom, and Robin at home. This will complete House-party.
June 17th.—Entire household rises practically at dawn, in order to take part in active preparations for Garden Fete. Mademoiselle reported to have refused breakfast in order to put final stitches in embroidered pink satin boot-bag for Fancy Stall, which she has, to my certain knowledge, been working at for the past six weeks. At ten o'clock our Vicar's wife dashes in to ask what I think of the weather, and to say that she cannot stop a moment. At eleven she is still here, and has been joined by several stall-holders, and tiresome local couple called White, who want to know if there will be a Tennis Tournament, and if not, is there not still time to organise one? I reply curtly in the negative to both suggestions and they depart, looking huffed. Our Vicar's wife says that this may have lost us their patronage at the Fete altogether, and that Mrs. White's mother, who is staying with them, is said to be rich, and might easily have been worth a couple of pounds to us.
Diversion fortunately occasioned by unexpected arrival of solid and respectable-looking claret-coloured motor-car, from which Barbara and Crosbie Carruthers emerge. Barbara is excited; C. C. remains calm but looks benevolent. Our Vicar's wife screams, and throws a pair of scissors wildly into the air. (They are eventually found in Bran Tub containing Twopenny Dips, and are the cause of much trouble, as small child who fishes them out maintains them to be bona fide dip and refuses to give them up.)
Barbara looks blooming, and says how wonderful it is to see the dear old place quite unchanged. Cannot whole-heartedly agree with this, as it is not three months since she was here last, but fortunately she requires no answer, and says that she and C. C. are looking up old friends and will return for the Opening of the Fete this afternoon.
Robert goes to meet old school-friend Cissie Crabbe at station, and Rose and Ito help price garments at Jumble Stall. (Find that my views are not always similar to those of other members of Committee. Why, for instance, only three-and-sixpence for grey georgette only sacrificed reluctantly at eleventh hour from my wardrobe?)
Arrival of Cissie Crabbe (wearing curious wool hat which I at once feel would look better on Jumble Stall) is followed by cold lunch. Have made special point of remembering nuts and banana sandwiches for Cissie, but have difficulty in preventing Robin and Vicky—to whom I have omitted to give explanation—making it obvious that they would prefer this diet to cold lamb and salad. Just as tinned pineapple and junket stage is passed, Robin informs me that there are people beginning to arrive, and we all disperse in desperate haste and excitement, to reappear in best clothes. I wear red foulard and new red hat, but find—as usual—that every petticoat I have in the world is either rather too long or much too short. Mademoiselle comes to the rescue and puts safety-pins in shoulder-straps, one of which becomes unfastened later and causes me great suffering. Rose, also as usual, looks nicer than anybody else in delightful green delaine. Cissie Crabbe also has reasonably attractive dress, but detracts from effect with numerous scarab rings, cameo brooches, tulle scarves, enamel buckles, and barbaric necklaces. Moreover, she clings (I think mistakenly) to little wool hat, which looks odd. Robin and Vicky both present enchanting appearance, although Mary's three little Kellways, all alike in pale rose tussore, undeniably decorative. (Natural wave in hair of all three, which seems to me unjust, but nothing can be done until Vicky reaches age suitable for Permanent Waving.)
Lady Frobisher arrives—ten minutes too early—to open Fete, and is walked about by Robert until our Vicar says, Well, he thinks perhaps that we are now all gathered together...(Have profane impulse to add "In the sight of God", but naturally stifle it.) Lady F. is poised gracefully on little bank under the chestnut tree, our Vicar beside her, Robert and myself modestly retiring a few paces behind, our Vicar's wife kindly, but mistakenly, trying to induce various unsuitable people to mount bank—which she humorously refers to as the Platform—when all is thrown into confusion by sensational arrival of colossal Bentley containing Lady B.—in sapphire-blue and pearls—with escort of fashionable creatures, male and female, apparently dressed for Ascot.
"Go on, go on!" says Lady B., waving hand in white kid glove, and dropping small jewelled bag, lace parasol, and embroidered handkerchief as she does so. Great confusion while these articles are picked up and restored, but at last we do go on, and Lady F. says what a pleasure it is to her to be here to-day, what a desirable asset a Village Hall is, and much else to the same effect. Our Vicar thanks her for coming here to-day—so many claims upon her time—Robert seconds him with almost incredible brevity—someone else thanks Robert and myself for throwing open these magnificent grounds—(tennis-court, three flower borders, and microscopic shrubbery)—I look at Robert, who shakes his head, thus obliging me to make necessary reply myself, and our Vicar's wife, with undeniable presence of mind, darts forward and reminds Lady F. that she has forgotten to declare the Fete open. This is at once done and we disperse to stalls and sideshows.
Am stopped by Lady B., who asks reproachfully, Didn't I know that she would have been perfectly ready to open the Fete herself, if I had asked her? Another time, she says, I am not to hesitate for a moment. She then spends ninepence on a lavender bag, and drives off again with expensive-looking friends. This behaviour provides topic of excited conversation for us all, throughout the whole of the afternoon.
Everyone else buys nobly, unsuitable articles are raffled—(raffling illegal, winner to pay sixpence)—guesses are made as to contents of sealed boxes, number of currants in large cake, weight of bilious-looking ham, and so on. Band arrives, is established on lawn, and plays selections from The Geisha. Mademoiselle's boot-bag bought by elegant purchaser in grey flannels, who turns out, on closer inspection, to be Howard Fitzsimmons. Just as I recover from this, Robin, in wild excitement, informs me that he has won a Goat in a raffle. (Goat has fearful local reputation, and is of immense age and savageness.) Have no time to do more than say how nice this is, and he had better run and tell Daddy, before old Mrs. B., Barbara, C. C., and Cousin Maud all turn up together. (Can baby Austin possibly have accommodated them all?) Old Mrs. B. rather less subdued than at our last meeting, and goes so far as to say that she has very little money to spend, but that she always thinks a smile and a kind word are better than gold, with which I inwardly disagree.
Am definitely glad to perceive that C. C. has taken up cast-iron attitude of unfriendliness towards Cousin Maud, and contradicts her whenever she speaks. Sports, tea, and dancing on the tennis-lawn all successful—(except possibly from point of view of future tennis-parties)—and even Robin and Vicky do not dream of eating final ice cream cornets, and retiring to bed, until ten o'clock.
Robert, Rose, Cissie Crabbe, Helen Wills, and myself all sit in the drawing-room in pleasant state of exhaustion, and congratulate ourselves and one another. Robert has information, no doubt reliable, but source remains mysterious, to the effect that we have Cleared Three Figures. All, for the moment, is couleur-de-rose.
June 23rd.—Tennis-party at wealthy and elaborate house, to which Robert and I now bidden for the first time. (Also, probably, the last.) Immense opulence of host and hostess at once discernible in fabulous display of deck-chairs, all of complete stability and miraculous cleanliness. Am introduced to youngish lady in yellow, and serious young man with horn-rimmed spectacles. Lady in yellow says at once that she is sure I have a lovely garden. (Why?)
Elderly, but efficient-looking, partner is assigned to me, and we play against the horn-rimmed spectacles and agile young creature in expensive crepe-de-chine. Realise at once that all three play very much better tennis than I do. Still worse, realise that they realise this. Just as we
