heard him say: "Don't keep on putting in little fancy steps on your own." I guessed that would annoy her and it did; when the music
stopped and he asked her to come out into the garden for some air, she said "No, thanks," almost rudely.
After that, we all went back to the Long Gallery where Father and Mrs.
Cotton were talking as hard as ever.
Mrs. Cotton broke off politely as we went in and the conversation was general for a while; but Mrs. Fox-Cotton kept yawning and patting her mouth and saying "Excuse me"--which only drew more attention to it-and soon Topaz said we ought to be going. Mrs.
Cotton protested courteously, then rang for the car. There was a late feeling about the evening--just as there used to be at children's
parties (the few I ever went to) after the first nurse arrived to take a child home.
I picked up the ham as we went through the hall and tactfully kept it under the wrap Topaz had lent me- it was a most peculiar sort of bur
nous thing but it came in very useful.
Simon and Neil went out to the car with us and said they would come
over and see us when they got back from London- they were driving up
the next day to stay for a fortnight.
And so the party was over.
"Great Heavens, Cassandra, how did you get that?"
said Father when he saw me nursing the ham.
I told him, and explained that I had been hiding it in case he made me refuse it.
"Refuse it his You must be insane, my child." He took it from me to guess how much it weighed. We all guessed--which was a sheer waste of time as we haven't any scales.
"You're nursing it as if it were your first-born child," said Father when it was returned to me eventually.
I said I doubted if anyone's first-born child was ever more welcome.
After that we all fell silent--we had suddenly remembered the
chauffeur.
Even when we got home we didn't all rush to compare notes. I got the
feeling that we all wanted to do a little private thinking. I
certainly did.
I began as soon as Rose and I had blown our bedroom candles out. I
wasn't a bit sleepy. I went through the whole evening- it was almost
nicer than when it was actually happening until I got to the bit in the kitchen, with Mrs. Fox-Cotton asking Stephen to sit for her; I found I was furious about that. I asked myself why- why shouldn't he make five guineas for a few hours' work his Five guineas is a tremendous amount of money. And surely a photographer has every right to engage models
his I decided I was being most unreasonable- but I went on feeling
furious.
While I was still arguing with myself, Rose got out of the four-poster and opened the window wider; then sat on the window-seat.
"Can't you sleep ?" I asked.
She said she hadn't even been trying and I guessed she had been going over the evening just as I had; I wished I could change minds with her for a while and re-live her evening.
I got up and joined her on the window-seat. It was such a dark night
that I could only see the shape of her.
Suddenly she said:
"I wish I knew more about men."
"Why specially ?" I asked, in a quietly encouraging voice. She was silent so long that I thought she wasn't going to answer; then the
words came rushing out:
"He's attracted--I know he is! But he's probably been attracted to lots of girls; it doesn't necessarily mean he's going to propose. IF
only I knew the clever way to behave!"
I said: "Oh, Rose, have you thought what marriage really means ?"
"Yes, I thought tonight-when I looked at him to see if he was like that old painting. I suddenly imagined being in bed with him."
"What a moment to choose for it! I saw you were pretty preoccupied.
Well, how did it feel ?"
"Most peculiar. But I could face it."
"Is it just the money, Rose?"
"I'm not sure," she said, "honestly, I'm not--I don't understand myself. It's terribly exciting feeling men are attracted to you. It's but you couldn't understand."
"I think perhaps I could." For a second I thought of telling her about Stephen, but before I could start she went on:
"I like him- really I do. He's so courteous he the first person who ever made me feel I matter. And he's handsome--in a way, don't you
think his His eyes are, anyway, if I could just get used to the beard-his "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have Neil? He's so very kind and he's got such a nice clean face."
"Oh, Neil!" Her tone was so scornful that I realized he must have annoyed her even more than I had suspected.
"No, you can have Neil."
Honestly, that was the first time the idea had ever occurred to me. Of course I didn't take it seriously--but I felt it deserved a little
quiet thinking about.
"If only I could get Simon to shave," Rose went on. Then her voice went hard.
"Anyway, what does it matter his I'd marry him even if I hated him.
Cassandra, did you ever see anything as beautiful as Mrs. Cotton's
bathroom ?"
"Yes, lots of things," I said firmly.
"And no bathroom on earth will make up for marrying a bearded man you hate."
"But I don't hate him- I tell you I like him. I almost ... was She broke off and went back to bed.
"Perhaps you won't be sure of your feelings until you've let him kiss you," I suggested.
"But I can't do that before he proposes- or he mightn't propose," she said decidedly.
"That's one thing I do know."
I had a strong suspicion she was being a mite old-fashioned, but I kept my views to myself.
"Well, I shall pray you really fall in love with him--and he with you, of course. And I'll do out-of-bed prayers."
"So will I," she said, hopping out again.
We both prayed hard, Rose much the longest--she was still on her knees when I had settled down ready to sleep.
"That'll do, Rose," I told her at last.
"It's enough just to mention things, you know. Long prayers are like nagging."
We were restless for ages. I tried to invent something soothing for
Miss Blossom to say but I wasn't in the mood. After a while I heard an owl hooting and calmed myself by thinking of it flying over the dark
fields-and then I remembered it would be pouncing on mice.
I love owls, but I wish God had made them vegetarian. Rose kept
flinging herself over in bed.
"Oh, do stop walloping about," I said.
"You'll break what few springs the four-poster has left."
But again and again as I was dropping off she did a wallop. Godsend
church clock struck two before I heard her breathing quietly.
Then I got to sleep at last.
IX
It took three days to describe the party at Scoatney-I didn't mark the breaks because I wanted it to seem like one whole chapter. Now that
life has become so much more exciting I think of this journal as a
story I am telling. A new chapter happened yesterday which I long to
dash straight into, but I shall resist the temptation and bring myself up to date first.
One temptation I didn't manage to resist was that of letting my
imagination leap ahead a bit. As Rose had said I could have Neil, I
let myself just toy with the idea; I thought about it when I woke up
the day after the party and imagined his proposing--I made it happen in the water-garden at Scoatney. I accepted him and Rose and I arranged
to have a double wedding, and bought the most superb trousseaux. Then I dozed off again and dreamt I really was married to Neil. We were
shut up together in Mrs.
Cotton's bathroom in a terribly embarrassing way and Stephen's face
kept floating in the looking-glass walls. I was very glad to wake up
and find it wasn't true. Of course Neil never will propose to me now
that I have let myself imagine it. Not that I mind.
I suppose he just might--in a completely different way, and not in the water-garden.
Topaz and I had a good gossip about the party while we made the beds.
She was more and more hopeful for Rose, but depressed about Father--he had snubbed her when she asked him what he and Mrs. Cotton had talked about.
"All I got out of him was "Don't be a fool, my dear--how can one repeat the details of a conversation his She's a 'highly intelligent woman and she can listen as well as she can talk."
And then what do you think he said his That he'd placed her wrongly
--her knowledge of literature wasn't at all superficial; she's very
widely read.
"It just shows," he told me, "that one shouldn't generalize about nations on the strength of a brief acquaintance"--and you'd have thought from his tone that I'd been doing the generalizing."
"How very annoying," I said, trying not to laugh--I was so tickled that Father had taken to heart Mrs.
Cotton's little snub about generalizing.
"Anyway, how is it he can discuss literature with her and not with me?
I'm always trying to talk to him about books, but he never lets me."
I blame Father for lots of things but not for that--because it really is agony to talk to her about books. When I was longing for a calm
discussion of Tolstoy's War and Peace, she said "Ah, it's the
overlapping dimensions that are so wonderful. I tried to paint it
once, on a circular canvas"--and then she couldn't remember who Natasha was.
I was most sympathetic with her over Father, but rather quick about it, because I wanted to write my journal. I only managed an hour before
lunch but was able to work all afternoon, up in the attic. Stephen