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On the stroke of nine o’clock
Mr. and Mrs. De Voted took their places on either side of the
drawing-room fire, in attitudes of gracefully combined hospitality
and unconcern, Vivian De
Voted wearing a black beard and black velvet jacket buttoned over
his Bohemian bosom, his
lady in a flowing purple gown embroidered in divers appropriate
places with pomegranates
and their leaves. The long room was decorated in that shade of blue
known and loved by our
youngest poet bloods as ineffable; the ceiling was black, having
a gold crescent over the
grand piano, and the gold-plush curtains shrouding three windows
were meant to convey - I
quote Vivian De V. - something of the desert’s dusty glare
and the somewhat somnolent
richness of eastern light-languor !
“Doesn’t the room look beautiful,” sighed Mrs.
De Voted, caressing the little tables and
chairs and couches as though she loved them and would fain take
them all to her vast
expanse of pink bosom. “While I remember, do be careful, dear,
not to let anybody sit at the
table with crystallised violets; I’m keeping it, for the girls.
Mirabelle sent me a card this
morning saying their colour scheme was to be violet.” Mr.
De Voted took a black silk
handkerchief from his pocket, shook it, blew his nose upon it, and
replaced it. “By the way,”
said he, ‘‘you might ask me to sing ‘ Loosen Your
Girdles, Ye Rosebuds ’ ; my voice is very
good - I tried it in my bath this evening.” There was a ring
at the front door bell, followed
almost immediately by a little fluttering rush, and Miss Mirabelle
and Miss Ambergris, the
two unmarried sisters of Mrs. De Voted, laughing and upbraiding
each other with the
delicious innocence of Herrick virgins.
“We haven’t taken off our outside ta-tas yet,”
cried Mirabelle. “But we just ran in to kiss
Sister and Big Brother and say we were the first.” “How
heavenly you look, Angel,” cooed
Ambergris. “Did Vivian de- sign it? ” “Well, it’s
partly Vivian and partly some fifteenth
century South Kensington Museum tapestry.” “I got the
inspiration from that line; it is full
summer now,” said Vivian, and he smiled and laid his hand
a moment on the back of his
wife’s neck. “ It suits her ample beauty.” “Oh,”
said Mirabelle clapping her hands, “have the
babes gone to seep-sum-bye yet? Don’t say they have !”
“Selysette’s cutting her teeth - she’s
been asleep for hours; and Rose Mary and Madeleine are both in the
Land of Nod, but Vivian
is going to bring down Cedric first for a moment when everybody’s
arrived - just one round
the room on his shoulder.” “I adore babies. ”
Ambergris the innocent becoming warm - “Best
of all to bath them and feel the little things squiggling about
on my lap : they’re nicer than
pussies.”
Another ring at the door-bell and the prettiest dismay on the part
of the girls. “Fly !” cried
Mrs. De Voted; “slip through Vivian’s study and leave
your things in our room. Look, that’s
where you’re to sit - by the crystallised violets.”
They flew, and a maid announced “Mr.
Carrington Faber.” He was tall and lean, with a habit of caressing
his chin as though to make
certain he had one. Greetings over - “Do you know,”
he cried, “the shadow cast by the tree
to the left of the street-lamp upon the blind of your kitchen window?
” They did not know.
“It’s quite wonderful. Japanese, you know, with a touch
of Sime and just a suggestion of
Aubrey Beardsley in the tassel. I’ve been watching it for
ages. In fact, I knocked off a little
thing to it,”
he shrugged and smiled; “borrowed a pencil from a policeman
and wrote it on my cuff - had
nothing else with me.” He dreamed over to an electric light
and shot out his tablets. “Oh, yes,
it’s here right enough.” “Do read it,” said
Mrs. De Voted. “Fancy! the kitchen window !”
Carrington Faber looked up gravely. ‘‘It’s quite
short, you know, Japanese style. I think I’ll
call it ‘ Autumn’ :
“A wild goose honked.
My soul flew into the ashy bosom
Of the furthest star
And faded, shivering. . . .”
“Mr. and Mrs. Vane Catchpole,” announced the maid,
and two forlorn’ creatures, who
appeared to have issued from a cupboard undusted and unshaken, shook
hands with the De
Voteds. “ Didn’t see you at my lecture last Friday,
Catchpole.” Viviani De Voted shook a
perfectly kept finger at him. “No, no - unfortunately,”
replied the little man, wrinkling up his
face as though he felt a spider’s web upon it. “I meant
to turn up, but the wife had, one of her
nervous headaches - psychic they are. What was the theme? ”
‘“ The Infant at Nature’s
Fount, or Shall the Modern Mother Suckle?’” “Oh,
yes, yes, I recollect.” Mr. Catchpole
frowned, pursing his lips : “Very interesting indeed. And
Vital. But poor Min was quite laid
low, and when those attacks come on the ‘only thing I can
do is to sit by her and read her
statistics. Sounds queer, don’t it? But she says they remove
the ache from the sub-conscious
by quickening the nerve centres of the objective mind. ”
Mrs. De Voted, confidentially to Mrs. Catchpole, “No use
at all, my dear, unless you lie
down immediately after taking it. I’ve used it for years and
about a month ago I gave it to
‘my friend Mrs. Ffork Carving - they’re coming this
evening, the Ffork Carvings - of course,
it’s the rarest thing for them to go out in the evenings,
but Mr. Carving and my husband are
so intimate - really, like two boys together - and Vivian is writing
a series of articles for Mr.
Carving’s latest venture on ‘ Fruit Diet and the Birth
Rate.’”
The girls made their reappearance in violet dresses with their
arms and a silver scarf
entwining. They sat on a little couch and fed each other with violet
petals, the which artless
game so ensnared Mr. Carrington Faber that he hung over the back
of their couch and cried
them Pre-Raphaelite, to be rewarded by Mirabelle with a sweetie
- (she called him “my big
white pony,” and let him eat the morsel from the palm of her
hand). Madame Seduction and
Mr. Hering Bohn were announced. “You darling, darling Pet,”
gurgled Madame Seduction,
turning first one powdered cheek and then the other to be kissed.
“And how’s your beautiful
big husband? I’m going to sing you the loveliest song to-night
- all about the passions of two
married lovers. No, but tell me truly - do you still adore each
other? ” Mrs. De Voted caught
the lapels of Vivian’s coat. “Are you tired of your
wife? ” she asked, gently shaking him. The
company felt the tension of the moment - was silent-thrilled. It
is not every day that one can
witness a passion which had endured for nine full years, and was
still - again I quote Mr.
Vivian De V. in lighter vein - “on the wax with no hint of
waning.” He caught her face in his
hand : “I am still thy worshipper,” he boomed.
“Mr. and Mrs. Ffork Carving.” “How do you do,
Mrs. De Voted ? ” - “ So pleased, Mr.
Carving. ” “Glad to see you, Carving ” - “Well,
De Voted ! I’m afraid we’re a little late ; the
fact is - if I may plead not only freedom but truths of speech -
our maids were out to-night,
and I had to fasten my wife’s hooks between the paragraphs
of to-morrow’s leader.”
Appreciative laughter. “Oh, Fford, darling, how can you?”
from her. “Well, you’d better
retort by telling them I’ve never knotted my own ties for
the last-let me see, dare I say how
long we’ve been married? ” “No,” she cried,
“certainly not”-and she said to Mrs. De Voted :
‘“Come away from these men - I want to tell you something.
I’ve entirely given up heating
soup for Ffork in the evenings. Horlick’s Malted Milk, my
dear, after he’s in bed.” But
Vivian pursued them and, apologizing, whispered in his wife’s
ear. “Oh, very well,” said she,
“your baby boy.” He retired a moment reappearing with
Cedric on his shoulder--Cedric in a
flannel nighty with his hair in a cockatoo curl. Oh, rapture of
the ladies! Oh, despair of them
when Cedric, catching sight of Madame Seduction’s red silk
gloves, howled with fury and
hid in his father’s beard. “All right, my lamb; all
right, my poppet. I’ll have to take him
away, mother,” shouted Mr. De Voted above the storm. “Yes,
darling, please ”- and when the
door was shut -
“Cedric worships his father; it really is quite extraordinary.
He won’t look at other people or
go near them, but he responds to his father’s touch like a
little - a little ...” “sensitive
plant?” suggested Carrington Faber.
“The mentality of young children is as significant to me
as the mentality of young gods,” said
De Voted, reappearing with his beard freshly brushed. “What
about some music? I say, Bohn,
will you accompany Madame Seduction? ” “Delighted !”
The gentleman bowed and
unfastened the lady’s music-case which lay on the piano. “What
shall I sing? ” she said,
standing behind him and breathing faintly down his neck. “Whatever
you like ”- and he
whispered : “You look adorable to-night.” “Do
I? ” she murmured. “Are the red gloves a
success? ” “Irresistibly evil. You are like a poison-flower
growing in some stagnant jungle !”
“Ah, you dear man, thank you for that,” and swaying
forward she leaned her bosom against
his shoulder. “If these horrid people were away I think I
could sing to-night, but I’m in the
mood for such passion - and they don’t understand it, you
know.”
“I can feel it : you’re all woman, to-night-half cat,
half snake, wholly tigress. Be careful,
I’m intoxicated !”
She had a triumph: She sang the room into such a state of inflammability
that Carrington
Faber reeled over to the piano, and drooping against it like a long
yellow and black Iceland
poppy, recited his latest poem to Mirabelle :-
Breath and bosom aflame
At a name:
Mirabelle, Mirabelle.
Mouth and eyes agape
At a shape,
Hands of me body-warm
At a form :
Mirabelle, Mirabelle.
On the shores of my heart
The pink feet dancing,
From the seas of Desire
The mad waves glancing
At spoil so entrancing,
Foam in their swell:
Mirabelle, Mirabelle, Mirabelle.
The emotion was too profound for applause, and Mrs.De Voted informed
Mrs. Ffork Carving
that “they met at our house. Vivian and I have been watching
them for months. He says that
he is sure the symptoms are genuine and serious. We are so longing
for the final
understanding to be come to under our roof.” “Isn’t
your husband going to sing? ” inquired
the other. “I’ll
ask him.” she called across the room. “Darling ! ”
“Yes, dearest !” “Can we have ‘ Loosen
Your Girdles, Ye Rose Buds ’? ” “Certainly, pet
”- and he stood in an attitude of indolent
Eastern grace. In the pause of the first verse, eyeing his wife,
he observed her shiver - and
whispered, “Draught? ” in tones of agony. “No,”
she protested, and when the song was over
reproached him : “You know I always shiver when you sing;
it’s - it’s emotion.” Ffork
Carving pulled his wife’s ear. “I know one little girl
who ought to be thinking of bed,” he
said, playfully. “Oh, Ffork ! ” “Well, who said
they hadn’t closed their eyes at five o’clock
this morning? You can’t deny it, darling.”
“Supper is served,” announced the maid, reinforced
by a young foreigner in a dirty shirt from
the Tottenham Court Road.
The girls refused to be separated at supper - they would stay together;
and do you know what
they learned in the summer? - to coo like two doves - quite a little
conversation, too swell to
listen to ! “Listen, Mr. Carrington Faber-sometimes we keep
it up for hours.”
Madame Seduction bit into a peach; the juice ran through her fingers.
“O-o-h,” she pouted,
“what am I going to do with this poor wet hand? ” And
Hering Bohn dried it. “My dear, no
hansom - bus-at-corner,” flustered Mrs.Vane Catchpole to her
lord, who nodded, wiping a
spot of consommé from his waistcoat. “Ffork, you’re
not to touch salmon at this hour,” said
Mrs. Ffork. “We men are the veriest slaves,” Ffork smiled
at De Voted.
When the ladies retired to the De Voteds’ room to re-wrap
themselves in coats and scarves
and powder their noses and steal an invisible hairpin or two, they
had the benefit of seeing
yet another sign and token - of feeling yet another thrill. For
pink-shaded lights glowed in the
bedroom and the big pink velvet bed was unfolded like “a great
rose,” said childlike
Ambergris. A fire burned on the hearth - and there was even a suspicion
of pink silk and
ribbon and lace. Marriage ! Mirabelle shook Carrington Faber’s
arm in the hall, of her own
accord, and pressed it - the little dear!
The De Voteds watched the departing party from their door-step
- he with his arm about her,
she leaning upon him - the light from the hall strong on their loving
forms, and above,
through closed curtains, the pink light of their sacred shrine.
Mrs. De Voted, as the door closed, gave a little yawn. Vivian helped
her up the stairs.
KATHERINE MANSFIELD
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