Page:The Climber (Benson).djvu/224

214 Aunt Cathie somehow felt much more at home with her than she did with Lucia, even when the latter came and sat and smoked in her bedroom before dinner the night before. Maud was in no way different from what she had been when she stayed with them at Littlestone, whereas—the feeling was instinctive only—Lucia seemed now to have sat with her last night instead of doing something else. Maud gave the impression of having nothing else to do, or at least as if to grab Aunt Cathie was to do what she liked best. But as she opened the dining-room door, a sudden sound of laughter and voices came from within. Lucia was there, in riding habit, having breakfast with Charlie, while Mouse stood by the fireplace, with the Morning Post in her hand, smoking a cigarette. And instantly Cathie felt herself shy and self-conscious again. Lucia apparently did not.

"Morning, Maud," she said. "Not breakfasted yet? What a lazy! Charlie and I started out at eight, and rode for two hours. Ah, Aunt Cathie, you late too? What would Brixham say if they knew you came down to breakfast at a quarter to eleven?"

"Oh, I breakfasted long ago," said Cathie. "I breakfasted excellently."

"That's right—just what I'm doing," said Lucia. "No, Chubby, I understand Salome doing that perfectly. Imagine—oh, you can't, as you're a man. But, Mouse, imagine being desperately in love with a prophet who wouldn't look at you, and kept shouting out curses on you and your mother. He was very rude to Herodias, you know. Why, of course, you would say, 'Off with his head!' like the Queen in 'Alice in Wonderland.

Chubby was drinking tea, but put down his cup quickly in order to get a word in. It was necessary, he found, with Lucia to speak at once if you were going to speak at all. Otherwise she did.

"Yes you would, Lucia," he said. "We all know that you would, because you have a pagan and a barbaric nature. You are a throwback to some savage ancestor. Mouse isn't. She's—she's just a lady."

Mouse rustled her paper to command attention.

"Lucia, you are a snob also of the worst class," she said. "Why, oh, why, put your parties in the Morning Post? Listen: 'Lord and Lady Bray ton are entertaining a shooting-party,' etc. There we all are, in a row. I shall write to say I wasn't there, but that you asked me."

"Oh, that's Edgar," said Lucia. "I'm not a snob. Nor is he