Read Online Thank Heaven Fasting by E. M. Delafield - Free Book Online Page A

refused him. He’s dying to find a wife.”
    â€œIs he? I should have thought he’d be miles better than no one,” said Monica, surprised. “He’s quite rich, isn’t he?”
    â€œI think so. But deadly. I’ve practically given up dancing with him,” said Frederica, looking straight at Monica.
    She, too, had been at the Corrys’ ball, and Monica had seen her, with a white, stiffening face, sitting out dance after dance.
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI just don’t care about dancing, except with my particular friends. I’d really rather sit and watch.”
    Monica felt something that was half-way between pity for Frederica and anger at having it supposed that she would be stupid enough to believe such nonsense.
    Cecily interposed.
    â€œMonica, did you go to Kew Gardens with the Ashes?”
    â€œYes, on Saturday. Alice Ashe arranged a party. It was rather fun.”
    â€œWas Claude there?”
    They always spoke of all the young men whom they knew by their Christian names, and scrupulously addressed them as Mr.
    â€œOf course he was,” said Frederica, laughing. “Monica thinks that he arranged the whole thing for her.”
    â€œAs a matter of fact, he did. He practically said so. Considering he was the only person there I really knew—he’d introduced me and his sister, Alice, the day before, so that she could invite me.”
    â€œI think he looks very nice,” said Cecily.
    â€œHe’s quite nice,” Monica threw out, with elaborate casualness.
    â€œBoys are no use except to play about with, though.”
    â€œHe’s twenty-six.”
    â€œIs he? Oh well, that’s different. I didn’t realize he was as old as that,” said Frederica, more respectfully.
    â€œWould he be any good, Monica?” Cecily enquired wistfully.
    They all knew what she meant. A man was “any good” or “no good” according to whether he could, or could not, ask one to marry him.
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t suppose he has any money. His people don’t sound at all rich, from what Alice Ashe said about their house. They live somewhere in Wales.”
    â€œAnd he’s a barrister, or something. Like Mr. Pelham.”
    â€œYes. That would mean living in London if——”
    â€œWould you mind that?”
    â€œOh no. One can always pay visits,” said Monica cheerfully.
    â€œIt would be awfully exciting if one of us got engaged,” said Cecily.
    â€œYes, wouldn’t it. The other two would have to be bridesmaids, of course.”
    â€œHow, exactly, would you have your bridesmaids dressed, and what colour would you choose for your going-away frock?” said Frederica thoughtfully. “Let’s all say in turns.”
    It was an imaginative exercise of which they were never tired—discussing the details of a wedding, each one visualizing herself as its central figure. Even Mrs. Ingram, Monica’s mother, would sometimes indulge in the same pastime, alone with her daughter.
    It was not very long before Claude Ashe, calling on Mrs. Ingram only a very few days after the expedition to Kew, was smilingly told to go and find Monica in the back drawing-room. Monica, pleased, but rather nervous, jumped up. As she came forward through the looped-back blue satin curtains that divided the big room, she saw, behind Claude Ashe, her mother’s quick frown and shake of the head.
    She guessed that she had shown too much eagerness in her rapid movement to greet the young man, and felt more self-conscious than ever. However after a few moments itwore off, and she was talking almost naturally about the little drawings that strewed the table.
    They were bad little drawings, copied, as Monica had been taught to copy, from picture-books, or Christmas cards, or an occasional magazine illustration. Children in Dutch peasant costumes, thatched cottages crouching behind rampant herbaceous