Thank Heaven Fasting Read Online Free PDF Page A

Ingram kindly.
    â€œVery pleased, thank you, father.”
    â€œI want you to realize, dear child, that father and mother have taken a very great deal of trouble, and gone to a lot of expense, over this ball. Your mother, especially—I’m quite afraid that she’s worn herself out.”
    â€œOh, I hope not!” interjected Monica uncomfortably. Her father held up a long, beautifully shaped hand, and she perceived that she had interrupted him.
    â€œYou mustn’t think that because Lady Marlowe is—is joining forces with us to-night that the brunt of it has not fallen upon your dear mother. It has. Naturally, we don’t grudge any of it—we want you to have everything that we can give you. And I’m sure that you realize that, and will never—never disappoint us, in any way.”
    â€œNo, father, I won’t.”
    â€œThat’s right, darling. We hope that you’re going to make a number of very nice friends, and prove that we were quite justified in this—this expense, and trouble, over your first ball.”
    â€œI can’t thank you and mother enough, I know,” murmured Monica.
    Her father waved her embarrassed gratitude aside.
    â€œWe don’t want any thanks, dear child. We just want you to enjoy yourself, and be a good, happy little girl. I’m looking forward to seeing you in your new dress to-night, very much indeed. You’ve had a little talk with your mother, as to dancing with people whom we know, and like, and not too many times with any one partner, eh?”
    â€œYes, father, mother has told me.”
    â€œThat’s right, that’s right. I’m sure you’ll be a very good child, and enjoy yourself very much. Have you seen anything of your friends, Frederica and Cecily, to-day?”
    â€œNot to-day, father. I shall to-night, of course.”
    â€œYes, yes. Well, we must see if you can’t cut them both out in looks and dancing and everything else,” said Ingram with simplicity. Then he sat down and took up the new
Cornbill Magazine,
and Monica perceived that the conversation was over.
    She picked up a book from the table, and pretended to be reading it, but was quite unable to fix her attention. Her father’s last words, echoing the thought that was never really out of her own mind, thrilled her with its implication that she might achieve triumphs of masculine admiration beyond those accorded to others.
    Every now and then she looked anxiously up at the enormous ormulu clock on the marble mantelpiece, and its hands seemed to her to be moving so slowly that she several times wondered whether it had stopped.
    At last, however, it was six o’clock and she could go up to her room again, and begin to dress.
    It was really
beginning.
    Presently she was sitting in her white frilled flannel dressing-gown, waiting for Parsons. The new white satin dress lay on the bed, and on the floor were pointed, high-heeled, white satin shoes, that Monica knew only too well would hurt her long before the end of the evening.
    There was a knock at the door, and she called “Come in!”
    â€œNow,
Miss!” said Parsons, full of sympathetic excitement.
    Monica took off her dressing-gown, and the white satin dress was carefully lifted over her head, whilst she held her hair out of the way with one hand.
    â€œPin it up, Miss Monica—anyhow. Just to get it out of the way.”
    Monica drew in her breath while Parsons fastened the double rows of hooks and eyes, and smoothed down the ample skirts.
    â€œThere! It’s lovely.”
    Monica had no long glass in her room. She surveyed herself in the mirror on the dressing-table, unable to keep herself from a smile of gratified pleasure and astonishment at the sight of her reflection, but saying to Parsons in as critical and detached a tone as she could command:
    â€œIt’s not fair, of course, to judge with my hair not yet done. But I must say I think it looks