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and applause would burst in； he knew that nimble fingers in the
Press Gallery would be taking down each gibe and argument as he
flung it at the impassive Minister confronting him； and that the
fair lady of his desire would be able to judge what manner of young
man this was who spent his afternoon in her garden； lazily chaffing
himself and his world。
And he further reflected； with an amused chuckle； that she would be
vividly reminded of Comus for days to come； when she took her
afternoon tea； and saw the bread…and…butter reposing in an
unaccustomed dish。
CHAPTER VII
TOWARDS four o'clock on a hot afternoon Francesca stepped out from
a shop entrance near the Piccadilly end of Bond Street and ran
almost into the arms of Merla Blathlington。 The afternoon seemed
to get instantly hotter。 Merla was one of those human flies that
buzz； in crowded streets； at bazaars and in warm weather； she
attained to the proportions of a human bluebottle。 Lady Caroline
Benaresq had openly predicted that a special fly…paper was being
reserved for her accommodation in another world； others； however；
held the opinion that she would be miraculously multiplied in a
future state； and that four or more Merla Blathlingtons； according
to deserts； would be in perpetual and unremitting attendance on
each lost soul。
〃Here we are；〃 she cried； with a glad eager buzz； 〃popping in and
out of shops like rabbits； not that rabbits do pop in and out of
shops very extensively。〃
It was evidently one of her bluebottle days。
〃Don't you love Bond Street？〃 she gabbled on。 〃There's something
so unusual and distinctive about it； no other street anywhere else
is quite like it。 Don't you know those ikons and images and things
scattered up and down Europe； that are supposed to have been
painted or carved； as the case may be； by St。 Luke or Zaccheus； or
somebody of that sort； I always like to think that some notable
person of those times designed Bond Street。 St。 Paul； perhaps。 He
travelled about a lot。〃
〃Not in Middlesex； though；〃 said Francesca。
〃One can't be sure；〃 persisted Merla； 〃when one wanders about as
much as he did one gets mixed up and forgets where one HAS been。 I
can never remember whether I've been to the Tyrol twice and St。
Moritz once； or the other way about； I always have to ask my maid。
And there's something about the name Bond that suggests St。 Paul；
didn't he write a lot about the bond and the free？〃
〃I fancy he wrote in Hebrew or Greek；〃 objected Francesca； 〃the
word wouldn't have the least resemblance。〃
〃So dreadfully non…committal to go about pamphleteering in those
bizarre languages；〃 complained Merla； 〃that's what makes all those
people so elusive。 As soon as you try to pin them down to a
definite statement about anything you're told that some vitally
important word has fifteen other meanings in the original。 I
wonder our Cabinet Ministers and politicians don't adopt a sort of
dog…Latin or Esperanto jargon to deliver their speeches in； what a
lot of subsequent explaining away would be saved。 But to go back
to Bond Street … not that we've left it … 〃
〃I'm afraid I must leave it now；〃 said Francesca； preparing to turn
up Grafton Street； 〃Good…bye。〃
〃Must you be going？ Come and have tea somewhere。 I know of a cosy
little place where one can talk undisturbed。〃
Francesca repressed a shudder and pleaded an urgent engagement。
〃I know where you're going；〃 said Merla； with the resentful buzz of
a bluebottle that finds itself thwarted by the cold unreasoning
resistance of a windowpane。 〃You're going to play bridge at Serena
Golackly's。 She never asks me to her bridge parties。〃
Francesca shuddered openly this time； the prospect of having to
play bridge anywhere in the near neighbourhood of Merla's voice was
not one that could be contemplated with ordinary calmness。
〃Good…bye；〃 she said again firmly； and passed out of earshot； it
was rather like leaving the machinery section of an exhibition。
Merla's diagnosis of her destination had been a correct one；
Francesca made her way slowly through the hot streets in the
direction of Serena Golackly's house on the far side of Berkeley
Square。 To the blessed certainty of finding a game of bridge； she
hopefully added the possibility of hearing some fragments of news
which might prove interesting and enlightening。 And of
enlightenment on a particular subject； in which she was acutely and
personally interested； she stood in some need。 Comus of late had
been provokingly reticent as to his movements and doings； partly；
perhaps； because it was his nature to be provoking； partly because
the daily bickerings over money matters were gradually choking
other forms of conversation。 Francesca had seen him once or twice
in the Park in the desirable company of Elaine de Frey； and from
time to time she heard of the young people as having danced
together at various houses； on the other hand； she had seen and
heard quite as much evidence to connect the heiress's name with
that of Courtenay Youghal。 Beyond this meagre and conflicting and
altogether tantalising information； her knowledge of the present
position of affairs did not go。 If either of the young men was
seriously 〃making the running；〃 it was probable that she would hear
some sly hint or open comment about it from one of Serena's gossip…
laden friends； without having to go out of her way to introduce the
subject and unduly disclose her own state of ignorance。 And a game
of bridge； played for moderately high points； gave ample excuse for
convenient lapses into reticence； if questions took an
embarrassingly inquisitive turn； one could always find refuge in a
defensive spade。
The afternoon was too warm to make bridge a generally popular
diversion； and Serena's party was a comparatively small one。 Only
one table was incomplete when Francesca made her appearance on the
scene； at it was seated Serena herself； confronted by Ada
Spelvexit； whom everyone was wont to explain as 〃one of the
Cheshire Spelvexits；〃 as though any other variety would have been
intolerable。 Ada Spelvexit was one of those naturally stagnant
souls who take infinite pleasure in what are called 〃movements。〃
〃Most of the really great lessons I have learned have been taught
me by the Poor；〃 was one of her favourite statements。 The one
great lesson that the Poor in general would have liked to have
taught her； that their kitchens and sickrooms were not unreservedly
at her disposal as private lecture halls； she had never been able
to assimilate。 She was ready to give them unlimited advice as to
how they should keep the wolf from their doors； but in return she
claimed and enforced for herself the penetrating powers of an east
wind or a dust storm。 Her visits among her wealthier acquaintances
were equally