Chapter Twenty-seven


But Nancy began to ask herself seriously; was it such fun? When
house and maids and children, garden, car, table-linen and clothes
had all been brought to the standard of Marlborough Gardens, was
the result worth while? Who enjoyed them, who praised them? It was
all taken for granted here; the other women were too deep in their
own problems to note more than the satisfactory fact; the Bradleys
kept the social law.

It was a terrible law. It meant that Nancy must spend every waking
moment of her life in thought about constantly changing trifles--
about the strip of embroidered linen that curtained the door,
about the spoons that were placed on the table, about a hundred
details of her dress, about every towel and plate, every stocking
and hat-pin she possessed. She must watch the other women, and see
how salad-dressing must be served, and what was the correct
disposition of grapefruit. And more than that she must be
reasonably conversant with the books and poetry of the day, the
plays and the political atmosphere. She must always have the right
clothing to wear, and be ready to change her plans at any time.
She must be ready to run gaily down to the door at the most casual
interruption; leaving Agnes to finish Priscilla's bath just
because Seward Smith felt in a mood to come and discuss the
fairness of golf handicaps with his pretty, sensible neighbour.

She did not realize that she had been happier years ago, when
every step Junior and Ned and Anne took was with Mother's hand for