The Death of the Heart - Elizabeth Bowen [80]
"You don't smoke, do you?" Dickie said rather threateningly.
"I'm not really sure how to."
Dickie, having slowly lighted a cigarette of his own, said: "I should not let that worry you. Most girls smoke too much."
"Well, I may never begin."
"And another thing you had much better not begin is putting stuff on your nails. That sort of thing makes the majority of men sick. One cannot see why girls do it."
"Perhaps they don't know."
"Well, I always tell a girl. If one is to know a girl, it is much better to tell her what one thinks. Another thing I don't like is messed-up mouths. When I give a girl tea, I always look at her cup. Then, if she leaves any red muck on the rim, I say, 'Hullo, I didn't know that cup had a pink pattern.' Then the girl seems quite taken aback."
"But suppose the cup had really got a pink pattern?"
"In that case, I should say something else. Girls make a mistake in trying to be attractive in ways that simply lose them a man's respect. No man would want to give his children a mother with that sort of stuff all over her face. No wonder the population is going down."
"My sister-in-law says men are too particular."
"I cannot see that it is particular to have ideals. I should only care to marry a girl who seemed natural and likely to make a good home. And I think you would find that the majority of fellows, if you asked them, would feel the same. Will you have some lemonade?"
"No, thank you; not yet."
"Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I must fix myself up for this next dance. You and I might have the sixth from now. I will look for you by the gramophone."
Portia was going to sit beside Mrs. Heccomb when Cecil came up and asked for the next dance. "You were swept away before I could speak," he said—but all the same, he looked at her with respect. Cecil's method of dancing was more persuasive, and Portia found she did not get on so well. She took a look at Clara's mouselike hand splayed rather imploringly on a partner's shoulder (Dickie was waltzing with a fine girl in orange) and saw Clara wore no varnish on her nails. Dickie's partner did. After that, she kept twisting round to look at every girl's hands, and this made her collide and bump with Cecil. After three rounds he suggested another talk: clearly he liked her more on the mental plane. They sat down on the settee, in a draught from the sun porch, and Portia began to reproach herself for feeling that Cecil's manner lacked authority. Cecil stopped talking to give a glare. "Here comes that fellow Bursely from the School of Musketry. He seems to think he can behave all anyhow here. I don't think Dickie really thinks much of him. We must let him see that we are deep in talk."
But though she obediently fixed her eyes on Cecil, Mr.
Bursely bumped on to the settee on her other side. "Am I butting in?" he said, but not anxiously.
"You should know," muttered Cecil.
Mr. Bursely said brightly: "Didn't catch what you said."
"I said, I am going to look for a cigarette."
"Now, what's eating him?" said Mr. Bursely, "As a matter of fact," he Went on, "you and I were introduced, but I don't think you heard: you were looking the other way. I asked Daphne who you were the moment you buzzed in, but she didn't seem to be too keen we should meet. Then I asked the old lady to put us in touch, but she couldn't make herself heard above the