of
glance, until, meeting Karen's eyes, they beamed forth a brave warmth of
cherishing, encouraging sweetness. "Yes, _ma cherie_," they seemed to
say; "Bear up, I am bearing up. I will make _meringues_ of them for
you."

She could make _meringues_ of them; Gregory didn't doubt it. Yet, and
here was the glow of malicious satisfaction that atoned to him for the
discomforts he endured, they were, every one of them, making _meringues_
of her.

In their narrowness, in their defects, ran an instinct, as shrewd as it
was unconscious, that was a match for Madame von Marwitz's intelligence.
They were so unperceiving that no one of them, except perhaps Betty and
Karen--who of course didn't count among them at all--was aware of the
wintry wind of Madame von Marwitz's boredom; yet if it had been
recognised it would have been felt as insignificant. They knew that she
was a genius, and that she was very odd looking and that, as Mrs.
Jardine's guardian, she had not come in a professional capacity and
might therefore not play to them after dinner. So defined, she was seen,
with all her splendour of association, as incidental.

Only perhaps in this particular section of the British people could this
particular effect of cheerful imperviousness have been achieved. They
were not of the voracious, cultured hordes who make their way by their
well-trained appreciations, nor of the fashionable lion-collecting tribe
who do not need to make their way but who need to have their way made
amusing. Well-bred, securely stationed, untouched by boredom or anxiety,
they were at once too dull and too intelligent to be fluttered by the
presence of a celebrity. They wanted nothing of her, except, perhaps,
that after their coffee she should give them some music, and they did
not want this at all eagerly.

If Madame von Marwitz had come to crush, to subjugate or to enchant, she
had failed in every respect and Gregory saw that her failure was not
lost upon her. Her manner, as the consciousness grew, became more
frankly that of the vain, ill-tempered child, ignored. She ceased to
speak; her eyes, fixed on the wall over Sir Oliver's head, enlarged in a
sullen despondency.

Lady Montgomery was making her way through a bunch of grapes and Lady
Mary had only peeled her peach, when, suddenly, taking upon herself the
prerogative of a hostess, Madame von Marwitz caught up her fan and
gloves with a gesture of open impatience, and swept to the door almost
befo