Thank Heaven Fasting Read Online Free PDF Page B

and mother have a place in Wales, and very seldom come to London. I used to know his mother quite well, and she wrote and told me that this boy—he’s the second son—was going to be in London for a bit. So I’m very glad to have a chance of doing something for him. Perhaps, if we like him, we could suggest his coming to a little theatre-party one night. Anyway, he’ll call, after the dinner-party. You can let him know—and the other man too, of course—that I’m always at home on Sunday afternoons. Just mention it casually, you know.”
    â€œVery well, mother.”
    The hairdresser’s work with the tongs was completed. He stepped backwards and surveyed Mrs. Ingram’s reflection in the mirror with respectful admiration.
    â€œShall I dress it, madam?”
    â€œMy maid will do it, thank you, whilst you’re waving the young lady.—Monica, run up to your room, darling, and—let me see—ring for Mary, and tell her that mother says she’s to sit with you until Parsons is free.”
    Mary, the housemaid, was as busy as possible, but it wasclear that she must leave her work in order that Miss Monica should not be alone in her bedroom with the assistant from the Maison André and his curling-tongs. He, too, evidently appreciated the delicacy of the situation, for he did not knock at Monica’s door until five minutes after Mary had breathlessly appeared there, and had been installed in a chair with a stocking to darn.
    When Monica’s hair had been tonged into waves of the stiffest and most uniform regularity, it was drawn backwards through the comb in order to fluff it out on either side of her head, and the ends were rolled into curls, and transfixed by two hairpins to the pad securely pinned on the back of her head. One or two short pieces of hair on the back of her neck were twisted up in the tongs until Monica winced in the apprehension of being burnt, and then the hairdresser silently handed her the looking-glass.
    â€œVery nice indeed. Thank you so much,” graciously said Monica, imitating her mother’s phrasing and intonation of a kind especially reserved for such occasions.
    â€œThank you very much, Miss. Good evening, Miss.”
    He was gone, and Monica threw off her dressing-gown, and took the full effect of her appearance.
    â€œIt’s lovely, Miss Monica. The dress suits you most beautiful,” said Mary, with respectful warmth. “I’m sure there won’t be a prettier young lady anywhere in the ballroom.”
    Monica’s mother, sweeping into the room without warning, dismissed Mary to her duties downstairs, and inspected her daughter.
    â€œVery nice—yes, very nice indeed, my darling. Hold yourself up—you don’t want to poke like Frederica Marlowe. Let me see—you want a brooch just in front, there.”
    â€œI’ll put on my blue swallow brooch.”
    â€œNo, that won’t do at all. You can’t wear turquoises with a ball-dress. I’ll lend you my little pearl heart. Just lean over the banisters, darling, and call to Parsons, and tell her to bring it up here. It’s in my silver tray.”
    The brooch was found, and brought upstairs by Parsons, and Mrs. Ingram herself pinned it on the little white tulle edging of Monica’s dress.
    Then she said: “You want another hairpin—just
there.”
    â€œOh, mother, please let me put it in for myself,” cried Monica impatiently.
    â€œNo, darling. You can’t possibly tell where it’s needed. Bend your head down.”
    Monica had to obey.
    â€œThat’s perfect. Come along.”
    Mrs. Ingram, her dark head, with a diamond crescent twinkling on it, held high, preceded her daughter downstairs.
    Vernon Ingram was waiting for them, standing in front of the flower-filled fireplace in the drawing-room.
    â€œWell, well, well. Let’s have a look at you. Turn round, Monica. … I declare,