Free Thank Heaven Fasting by E. M. Delafield Page A

of the privilege conferred upon her.
    â€œWell, really,” said Mrs. Ingram, “I don’t quite know what to do. I told Lady Margaret I’d telephone to her the first thing to-morrow morning. Of course Monica must write a note as well. Now, we must think——”
    Monica had thought already, but she knew better than to say so.
    The butler placed the dessert dishes on the table, and approached Mr. Ingram with the port decanter.
    Neither Mrs. Ingram nor Monica ever drank any, and they watched Palter’s measured progress with impatience.
    The moment the door had shut behind him, Monica’s mother spoke.
    â€œIt must be someone we know fairly well, otherwise it becomes rather too marked. What about Claude Ashe, darling?”
    Monica nearly jumped.
    She looked at her mother, but there was no sign of any special significance to be seen.
    â€œI think he’d do very well,” she replied carefully.
    â€œWell, then, you’d better ring him up to-morrow—or, wait a minute; I think it would come better from me, perhaps.
I’ll
ring him up.”
    â€œA very good idea,” said Vernon Ingram approvingly. “A nice young fellow, and not at all likely to think any young lady is running after him.”
    He laughed a little as he spoke.
    â€œWhy, father?”
    â€œWhy, my dear child? Because I hope he’s a modest young man, and because, as he’s not in a position to marry at all, at present, he can’t suppose that he is being pursued with that end in view.”
    Vernon Ingram pushed back his chair from the table.
    â€œIt’s quite pleasant to have a quiet evening at home together, once in a while,” he remarked, as he opened the door for his wife and daughter.
    They left him, as usual, for his customary quarter of an hour in the dining-room, whilst they sat in the drawing-room.
    Mrs. Ingram picked up the newspaper, and Monica went to the piano. She would not have been encouraged to read the newspaper, even had she wished to do so, and it would have been bad manners to read a book unless her mother had also been doing the same.
    So she opened “The Star Folio” and played Beethoven’s
Adieux
and a waltz,
Sobre les Olas.
    â€œThat will do now, darling,” said Mrs. Ingram. “I can hear father coming, and he may want to talk. Ring for coffee.”
    Monica obeyed.
    She was not really particularly interested in either the
Adieux
or
Sobre les Olas,
although she vaguely liked the idea of herself, in a simple white frock, dreamily playing under the lamplight, and it always rather annoyed her that her conception of her own appearance had to be spoilt by the fact that, having no faculty for playing by ear, she was obliged always to keep her eyes fixed upon her music.
    All the time she had been playing she had been thinking about Claude Ashe. It made a person much more interesting and exciting, somehow, if you thought about him to the sound of music.
    Neither of her parents mentioned Ashe again. The evening, to Monica’s dismay, was spent in trying to learn Bridge. Her father was teaching her mother as well as herself. Mrs. Ingram got on fairly well—she had played whist for many years—but Monica, as usual, forgot what were trumps, mixed clubs with spades, and persistently failed to return her partner’s lead.
    At ten o’clock she went up to bed in tears.

Chapter V
    â€œMiss Mary Collier—Miss Monica Ingram—Mr. David IVX Collier—Miss Monica Ingram—Captain Christopher Lane—Miss Collier, Miss Ingram. There—I think you all know each other now. Oh—I’m sorry—Mr. Ashe, Captain Lane—You know Miss Ingram, of course?”
    Mr. Ashe bowed, and Monica smiled.
    She was enjoying herself already, although she had only just arrived at Lady Margaret’s house in South Audley Street. All the guests were young, even the chaperon of the party, Lady Margaret’s married daughter, and her