Read Online The Bazaar and Other Stories by Elizabeth Bowen - Free Book Online Page B

destroyed. He was looking towards Nancy dubiously,
bitterly, imploringly, asking for his cue. Nancy sat indifferent, a
smile for both of them, stroking back her smooth hair against her
head. A glance, a word from her, directed by an intention, could
have made Ripon either break the young cousin to pieces, or else
shake his hand, apologise to both of them, or even (inconceivable as
the thing seemed) cringe. Deep-set in the impressive face, the eyes
of Ripon held a torturing uncertainty. And Nancy, non-committal,
     
smiled on, made no sign.
     
Shame-faced, Noel quickly turned away, and, until that terrible
     
look ceased, could look at Ripon no more. There was an abyss here
     
he could not fathom.
The Pink Biscuit
S
ibella spent her Easter holidays at Folkestone, with her
aunt by marriage, Mrs. Willyard-Lester. Her aunt lived in a
maisonette on the Leas, with balconies, and Sibella occupied a spare
bedroom overlooking the sea. When, waking up in the mornings,
she saw this blue or grey line drawn across her window, saw the
dipping wings and heard the cries of sea-birds, Sibella was always
glad that she had come, and though sometimes during the day this
gladness might be clouded over a little, it never entirely left her.
When one’s mother is dead, one’s father in India, the laying-out of
holidays becomes a problem seriously to be considered. School
friends’ homes are not always open; two days after the end of term
Nancy wrote with the staggering pen of desolation that her mother
had asked, after all, two dreadful women to stay. Sibella, likely to be
stranded at school, was forced to accept Mrs. Willyard-Lester’s longproffered hospitality. This was the least disagreeable of several
alternatives; there are aunts and aunts.
    She had not seen Aunt Marjory for eight years, since an
afternoon when she slipped a finger up Sibella’s ringlets and said
she was charmingly pretty. Mrs. Willyard-Lester was one of those
childless people with no idea at what years of a child’s age these
irreticences should be avoided. The alert child of seven, un
accustomed to comment, had glowered at
1 her aunt, despised her,
and followed her round, with gratitude. Possibly it was remem
brance of this that led Sibella to honour, on this occasion, Mrs.
Willyard-Lester: her instinct had not been at fault. Mrs. WillyardLester treated her like a bride; praised her hair, gave her early tea in
the morning and coffee at night, and exclaimed that this was real, real pleasure. Sibella wore her Sunday blouses every day and her two
school dance frocks turn-abouts for dinner. The food was delicious,
though perhaps there was not quite enough; Aunt Marjory even
offered Sibella burgundy, a nasty-smelling drink which made Aunt
Marjory flush.
    Certainly it was not exciting, though she had been taken twice to
matinees and several times to concerts on the Leas. Her aunt
deplored the absence of young folk – young men, she meant, she
never thought of girls. “Those
nice Jefferson boys,” she said, “in
Westcliffe Gardens; one’s always away and the other’s just gone back
to Woolwich. Then there was a young Captain Somerly I used to
meet at bridge; he would have admired you, but he’s gone too. Even
Jacob Laurence is away, though he does squint rather: it’s too bad.” 2
    Sibella said, “Oh, thanks very much, but I really don’t care for
men,” in the tone in which she would have refused oysters.
     
Aunt Marjory did her hair elaborately, wore remarkable rings, and
seemed to have been poured into her tailor-mades. She played
bridge every afternoon and most evenings, and was an
irreproachable mother to her little dog, Boniface. In the mornings,
the three would stroll up and down the Leas; every second morning
one went to the library to renew Aunt Marjory’s novels. Sometimes
she took Sibella to tea where she went for bridge; Sibella sat by the
windows of the tight, hushed rooms, not liking to turn the pages of
papers she had been given. At tea,