THE COLLECTED WORKS OF E. M. DELAFIELD (Illustrated Edition). E. M. Delafield
she appears to think will be unintelligible to anyone except herself and me.
Final result is that Vicky, Robin and dog occupy most of the car on the way home, and I try and make up my mind how dog can best be introduced to Robert and Cook.
September 11th.--Decision reached--but cannot say how--that dog is to be kept, and that his name is to be Kolynos.
September 12th.--All is overshadowed by National Crisis, and terrific pronouncements regarding income-tax and need for economy. Our Vicar goes so far as to talk about the Pound from the pulpit, and Robert is asked by Felicity to explain the whole thing to her after dinner--which he very wisely refuses to do.
We lunch with the Frobishers, who are depressed, and say that the wages of everyone on the Estate will have to be reduced by ten per cent. (Query: Why are they to be sympathised with on this account? Am much sorrier for their employés.)
Young Frobisher, who is down from Oxford, says that he has seen it coming for a long while now. (Should like to know why, in that case, he did not warn the neighbourhood.) He undertakes to make all clear--this, once more, at Felicity's request--and involved monologue follows, in which the Pound, as usual, figures extensively. Am absolutely no wiser at the end of it all than I was at the beginning and feel rather inclined to say so, but Lady F. offers me coffee, and asks after children--whom she refers to as "the boy and that dear little Virginia"--and we sink into domesticities and leave the Pound to others. Result is that it overshadows the entire evening and is talked about by Felicity and Robert all the way home in very learned but despondent strain.
(N.B. A very long while since I have heard Robert so eloquent, and am impressed by the fact that it takes a National Crisis to rouse him, and begin to wish that own conversational energies had not been dissipated for years on such utterly unworthy topics as usually call them forth. Can see dim outline of rather powerful article here, or possibly viers fibres more suitable form--but nothing can be done to-night.) Suggest hot milk to Felicity, who looks cold, take infinite trouble to procure this, but saucepan boils over and all is wasted.
September 13th.--Curious and regrettable conviction comes over me that Sunday in the country is entirely intolerable. Cannot, however, do anything about it.
Kolynos chases Helen Wills up small oak-tree, and eats arm and one ear off teddy-bear owned by Vicky. This not a success, and Robert says tersely that if the dog is going to do that kind of thing--and then leaves the sentence unfinished, which alarms us all much more than anything he could have said.
Am absent-minded in Church, but recalled by Robin singing hymn, entirely out of tune, and half a bar in advance of everybody else. Do not like to check evident zeal, and feel that this should come within Casabianca's province, but he takes no notice. (Query: Perhaps he, like Robin, has no ear for music? He invariably whistles out of tune.)
Return to roast beef--underdone--and plates not hot. I say boldly that I think roast beef every Sunday is a mistake--why not chicken, or even mutton? but at this everyone looks aghast, and Robert asks What next, in Heaven's name? so feel it better to abandon subject, and talk about the Pound, now familiar topic in every circle.
General stupor descends upon Robert soon after lunch, and he retires to study with Blackwood's Magazine. Robin reads Punch; Vicky, amidst customary protests, disappears for customary rest; and Casabianca is nowhere to be seen. Have strong suspicion that he has followed Vicky's example.
I tell Felicity that I must write some letters, and she rejoins that so must she, and we talk until twenty minutes to four, and then say that it doesn't really matter, as letters wouldn't have gone till Monday anyhow. (This argument specious at the moment, but has very little substance when looked at in cold blood.)
Chilly supper--only redeeming feature, baked potatoes--concludes evening, together with more talk of the Pound, about which Robert and Casabianca become, later on, technical and masculine, and Felicity and I prove unable to stay the course, and have recourse to piano instead.
Final peak of desolation is attained when Felicity, going to bed, wishes to know why I have so completely given up my music, and whether it isn't a Great Pity?
Point out to her that all wives and mothers always do give up their music, to which she agrees sadly, and we part without enthusiasm.
Should be very sorry to put on record train of thought aroused in me by proceedings of entire day.
September 15th.--End of holidays, as usual, suddenly reveal themselves as being much nearer than anyone had supposed, and Cash's Initials assume extraordinary prominence in scheme of daily life, together with School Lists, new boots for Robin, new everything for Vicky, and tooth-paste for both.
This all dealt with, more or less, after driving Felicity to station, where we all part from her with regret. Train moves out of station just as I realise that egg sandwiches promised her for journey have been forgotten. Am overcome with utterly futile shame and despair, but can do nothing. Children sympathetic, until distracted by man on wheels--Stop me and Buy One--which they do, to the extent of fourpence. Should be prepared to take my oath that far more than fourpenny-worth of ice-cream will subsequently be found in car and on their clothes.
Extraordinarily crowded morning concluded with visit to dentist, who says that Vicky is Coming Along Nicely, and that Robin can be Polished Off Now, and offers, on behalf of myself, to have a look round, to which I agree, with unsatisfactory results. Look at this! says dentist unreasonably. Look at it! Waving in the Wind! Object strongly to this expression, which I consider gross exaggeration, but cannot deny that tooth in question is not all it should be. Much probing and tapping follows, and operator finally puts it to me--on the whole very kindly and with consideration--that this is a Question of Extraction. I resign myself to extraction accordingly, and appoint a date after the children have gone to school.
(Have often wondered to what extent mothers, if left to themselves, would carry universal instinct for putting off everything in the world until after children have gone to school? Feel certain that this law would, if it were possible, embrace everything in life, death itself included.)
It is too late to go home to lunch, and we eat fried fish, chipped potatoes, galantine and banana splits in familiar café.
September 20th.--Suggest to Robert that the moment has now come for making use of Doughty Street flat. I can take Vicky to London, escort her from thence to Mickleham, and then settle down in flat. Settle down what to? says Robert. Writing, I suggest weakly, and seeing Literary Agent. Robert looks unconvinced, but resigned. I make arrangements accordingly.
Aunt Gertrude writes to say that sending a little thing of Vicky's age right away from home is not only unnatural, but absolutely wrong. Have I, she wants to know, any idea of what a childless home will be like? Decide to leave this letter unanswered, but am disgusted to find that I mentally compose at least twelve different replies in the course of the day, each one more sarcastic than the last. Do not commit any of them to paper, but am just as much distracted by them as if I had--and have moments, moreover, of regretting that Aunt Gertrude will never know all the things I might have said.
Vicky, whom I observe anxiously, remains unmoved and cheerful, and refers constantly and pleasantly to this being her Last Evening at home. Moreover, pillow remains bone-dry, and she goes peacefully to sleep rather earlier than usual.
September 22nd.--Robin is taken away by car, and Casabianca escorts Vicky and myself to London, and parts from us at Paddington. I make graceful speech, which I have prepared beforehand, about our gratitude, and hope that he will return to us at Christmas. (Am half inclined to add, if state of the Pound permits--but do not like to.) He says, Not at all, to the first part, and Nothing that he would like better, to the second, and makes a speech on his own account. Vicky embraces him with ardour and at some length, and he departs, and Vicky immediately says Now am I going to school? Nothing is left but to drive with her to Waterloo and thence to Mickleham, where Vicky is charmingly received