Tenterhooks | Page 8

know,' said Archie, when he had been persuaded to apologise, 'of
course I know a gentleman oughtn't to hit a lady, not even--I mean,
especially not if she's his little sister. But oh, Mother, ought a lady to
interrupt a story?'
When Edith told Vincy he entirely took Archie's side.
Suppose Sargent were painting a beautiful picture, and one of his pupils,
snatching the paint-brush from him, insisted on finishing it, and
spoiling it--how would he like it? Imagine a poet who had just written a
great poem, and been interrupted in reciting it by someone who quickly

finished it off all wrong! The author might be forgiven under such
circumstances if in his irritation he took a strong line. In Vincy's
opinion it served Dilly jolly well right. Young? Of course she was
young, but four (he said) was not a day too soon to begin to learn to
respect the work of the artist. Edith owned that Archie was not easily
exasperated and was as a rule very patient with the child. Bruce took an
entirely different view. He was quite gloomy about it and feared that
Archie showed every sign of growing up to be an Apache.
CHAPTER IV
The Mitchells
The Mitchells were, as Vincy had said, extremely hospitable; they had
a perfect mania for receiving; they practically lived for it, and the big
house at Hampstead, with its large garden covered in, and a sort of
studio built out, was scarcely ever without guests. When they didn't
have some sort of party they invariably went out.
Mitchell's great joy was to make his parties different from others by
some childish fantasy or other. He especially delighted in a surprise. He
often took the trouble (for instance) to have a telegram sent to every
one of his guests during the course of the evening. Each of these wires
contained some personal chaff or practical joke. At other times he
would give everyone little presents, concealed in some way. Christmas
didn't come once a year to the Mitchells; it seemed never to go away.
One was always surprised not to find a Christmas tree and crackers.
These entertainments, always splendidly done materially, and curiously
erratic socially, were sometimes extremely amusing; at others, of
course, a frost; it was rather a toss-up.
And the guests were, without exception, the most extraordinary mixture
in London. They included delightful people, absurd people, average
people; people who were smart and people who were dowdy, some
who were respectable and nothing else, some who were deplorable,
others beautiful, and many merely dull. There was never the slightest
attempt at any sort of harmonising, or of suitability; there was a great

deal of kindness to the hard-up, and a wild and extravagant delight in
any novelty. In fact, the Mitchells were everything except exclusive,
and as they were not guided by any sort of rule, they really lived, in St
John's Wood, superior to suburban or indeed any other restrictions.
They would ask the same guests to dinner time after time, six or seven
times in succession. They would invite cordially a person of no
attraction whatsoever whom they had only just met, and they would
behave with casual coolness to desirable acquaintances or favourite
friends whom they had known all their lives. However, there was no
doubt that their parties had got the name for being funny, and that was
quite enough. London people in every set are so desperate for
something out of the ordinary way, for variety and oddness, that the
Mitchells were frequently asked for invitations by most distinguished
persons who hoped, in their blasé fatigue, to meet something new and
queer.
For the real Londoner is a good deal of a child, and loves Punch and
Judy shows, and conjuring tricks (symbolically speaking)--and is also
often dreaming of the chance of meeting some spring novelty, in the
way of romance. Although the Mitchells were proud of these successes
they were as free from snobbishness as almost anyone could be. On the
whole Mrs Mitchell had a slight weakness for celebrities, while Mr
Mitchell preferred pretty women, or people who romped. It was merely
from carelessness that the Ottleys had never been asked before.
When Edith and Bruce found themselves in the large square
country-house-looking hall, with its oak beams and early English
fireplace, about twenty people had arrived, and as many more were
expected. A lively chatter had already begun; for each woman had been
offered on her arrival a basket from which she had to choose a brightly
coloured ribbon. These ribbons matched the rosettes presented in an
equally haphazard way to every man. As Vincy observed, it gave one
the rather ghastly impression that there was going to be a cotillion at
once, on sight, before dinner; which