"No--she's a monstrously
perfect result of the system: the completest proof of its triumph. It's
Ralph who's the victim and the exception."
"Ah, poor Ralph!" Mrs. Fairford raised her head quickly. "I hear him
now. I suppose," she added in an undertone, "we can't give him your
explanation for his wife's having forgotten to come?"
Bowen echoed her sigh, and then seemed to toss it from him with his
cigarette-end; but he stood in silence while the door opened and Ralph
Marvell entered.
"Well, Laura! Hallo, Charles--have you been celebrating too?" Ralph
turned to his sister. "It's outrageous of me to be so late, and I
daren't look my son in the face! But I stayed down town to make
provision for his future birthdays." He returned Mrs. Fairford's kiss.
"Don't tell me the party's over, and the guest of honour gone to bed?"
As he stood before them, laughing and a little flushed, the strain of
long fatigue sounding through his gaiety and looking out of his anxious
eyes, Mrs. Fairford threw a glance at Bowen and then turned away to ring
the bell.
"Sit down, Ralph--you look tired. I'll give you some tea."
He dropped into an arm-chair. "I did have rather a rush to get here--but
hadn't I better join the revellers? Where are they?"
He walked to the end of the room and threw open the dining-room doors.
"Hallo--where have they all gone to? What a jolly cake!" He went up to
it. "Why, it's never even been cut!"
Mrs.
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