Prothero had been examined enough.  Now he must be entertained.  She told stories about the village people in her brightest manner.  The third story she regretted as soon as she was fairly launched upon it; it was how she had interviewed the village dressmaker, when Sir Godfrey insisted upon her supporting local industries.  It was very amusing but technical.  The devil had put it into her head.  She had to go through with it.  She infused an extreme innocence into her eyes and fixed them on Prothero, although she felt a certain deepening pinkness in her cheeks was betraying her, and she did not look at Benham until her unhappy, but otherwise quite amusing anecdote, was dead and gone and safely buried under another. . . .

But people ought not to go about having dressmakers for mothers. . . .

And coming into other people’s houses and influencing their sons. . . .

8

That night when everything was over Billy sat at the writing-table of his sumptuous bedroom—­the bed was gilt wood, the curtains of the three great windows were tremendous, and there was a cheval glass that showed the full length of him and seemed to look over his head for more,—­and meditated upon this visit of his.  It was more than he had been prepared for.  It was going to be a great strain.  The sleek young manservant in an alpaca jacket, who said “Sir” whenever you looked at him, and who had seized upon and unpacked Billy’s most private Gladstone bag without even asking if he might do so, and put away and displayed Billy’s things in a way that struck Billy as faintly ironical, was unexpected.  And it was unexpected that the brown suit, with its pockets stuffed with Billy’s personal and confidential sundries, had vanished.  And apparently a bath in a bathroom far down the corridor was prescribed for him in the morning; he hadn’t thought of a dressing-gown.  And after one had dressed, what did one do?  Did one go down and wander about the house looking for the breakfast-room or wait for a gong?  Would Sir Godfrey read Family Prayers?  And afterwards did one go out or hang about to be entertained?  He knew now quite clearly that those wicked blue eyes would mark his every slip.  She did not like him.  She did not like him, he supposed, because he was common stuff.  He didn’t play up to her world and her.  He was a discord in this rich, cleverly elaborate household.  You could see it in the servants’ attitudes.  And he was committed to a week of this.

Billy puffed out his cheeks to blow a sigh, and then decided to be angry and say “Damn!”

This way of living which made him uncomfortable was clearly an irrational and objectionable way of living.  It was, in a cumbersome way, luxurious.  But the waste of life of it, the servants, the observances, all concentrated on the mere detail of existence?  There came a rap at the door.  Benham appeared, wearing an expensive-looking dressing-jacket which Lady Marayne had bought for him.  He asked if he might talk for a bit and smoke.  He sat down in a capacious chintz-covered easy chair beside Prothero, lit a cigarette, and came to the point after only a trivial hesitation.