somewhere else.  She could be a rapid and good talker, and could tell story after story, lightly and coolly, till danger points were past.  Pamela was beautifully bred; she had savoir-faire as well as kindness, and never lost control of herself.  These family gatherings really bored her a little, because her work and interests lay elsewhere, but she would never admit or show it.  She was kind even to Rosalind, though cool.  She had always been kind and cool to Rosalind, because Gilbert was her special brother, and when he had married this fast, painted and unHilaryish young woman, she had seen the necessity for taking firm hold of an attitude in the matter and retaining it.  No one, not even Neville, not even Frances Carr, had ever seen behind Pamela’s guard where Rosalind was concerned.  When Nan abused Rosalind, Pamela would say “Don’t be a spitfire, child.  What’s the use?” and change the subject.  For Rosalind was, in Pamela’s view, one of the things which were a pity but didn’t really matter, so long as she didn’t make Gilbert unhappy.  And Gilbert, so far, was absurdly pleased and proud about her, in spite of occasional disapprovals of her excessive intimacies with others.

But, whatever they all felt about Rosalind, there was no doubt that the family party was happier for her departure.  The departure of in-laws, even when they are quite nice in-laws, often has this effect on family parties.  Mrs. Hilary had her three daughters to herself—­the girls, as she still called them.  She felt cosy and comforted, though in pain, lying on the sofa by the bay window in the warm afternoon sunshine, while Grandmama looked at the London Mercury, which had just come by the post, and the girls talked.

6

Their voices rose and fell against the soft splashing of the sea; Neville’s, sweet and light, with pretty cadences, Pamela’s, crisp, quick and decided, Nan’s, trailing a little, almost drawling sometimes.  The Hilary voices were all thin, not rich and full-bodied, like Rosalind’s.  Mrs. Hilary’s was thin, like Grandmama’s.

“Nice voices,” thought Mrs. Hilary, languidly listening.  “Nice children.  But what nonsense they often talk.”

They were talking now about the Minority Report of some committee, which had been drafted by Rodney.  Rodney and the Minority and Neville and Pamela and Nan were all interested in what Mrs. Hilary called “This Labour nonsense which is so fashionable now.”  Mrs. Hilary herself, being unfashionable, was anti-Labour, since it was apparent to her that the working classes had already more power, money and education than was good for them, sons of Belial, flown with insolence and bonuses.  Grandmama, being so nearly out of it all, was used only to say, in reply to these sentiments, “It will make no difference in the end.  We shall all be the same in the grave, and in the life beyond.  All these movements are very interesting, but the world goes round just the same.”  It was all very well for Grandmama to be philosophical; she wouldn’t have to live for years ruled and triumphed over by her own gardener, which was the way Mrs. Hilary saw it.