E. Delafield - The Collected Works of E. M. Delafield (Illustrated Edition)

Question as to whether we shall sit in the sun or out of the sun arises, and gives rise to much amiable unselfishness, but is finally settled by abrupt disappearance of sun behind heavy clouds, where it remains. Felicity sits down and pants, but is less blue. I point out scenery, which constitutes only possible excuse for having brought her to such heights, and she is appreciative. Discover that sugar has been left behind. Children suggest having tea at once, but are told that it is only four o'clock, and they had better explore first. This results in Robin's climbing a tree, and taking Pickwick Papers out of his pocket to read, and Vicky lying flat on her back in the path, and chewing blades of grass. Customary caution as to unhygienic properties peculiar to blades of grass ensues, and I wonder--not for the first time--why parents continue to repeat admonitions to which children never have paid, and never will pay, slightest attention. Am inspired by this reflection to observe suddenly to Felicity that, anyway, I'm glad my children aren't prigs --at which she looks startled, and says, Certainly not--far from it--but perceive that she has not in any way followed my train of thought--which is in no way surprising.

We talk about Italy, the Book Society-- Red Ike a fearful mistake, but The Forge good--and how can Mr. Hugh Walpole find time for all that reading, and write his own books as well--and then again revert to far-distant schooldays, and ask one another what became of that girl with the eyes, who had a father in Patagonia, and if anybody ever heard any more of the black satin woman who taught dancing the last year we were there?

Casabianca, who alone has obeyed injunction to explore, returns, followed by unknown black-and-white dog, between whom and Vicky boisterous and ecstatic friendship instantly springs into being--and I unpack baskets, main contents of which appear to be bottles of lemonade--at which Felicity again reverts to paleblueness--and pink sugar-biscuits. Can only hope that children enjoy their meal.

Customary feelings of chill, cramp and general discomfort invade me--feel certain that they have long ago invaded Felicity, although she makes no complaint--and picnic is declared to be at an end. Black-and-white dog remains glued to Vicky's heels, is sternly dealt with by Casabianca, and finally disappears into the bracken, but at intervals during descent of hill, makes dramatic reappearances, leaping up in attitudes reminiscent of ballet-dancing. Owners of dog discovered at foot of hill, large gentleman in brown boots, and very thin woman with spats and eye-glasses.

Vicky is demonstrative with dog, the large gentleman looks touched, and the eye-glasses beg my pardon, but if my little girl has really taken a fancy to the doggie, why, they are looking for a home for him--just off to Zanzibar--otherwise, he will have to be destroyed. I say Thank you, thank you, we really couldn't think of such a thing, and Vicky screams and ejaculates.

The upshot of it all is that we do think of such a thing--Casabianca lets me down badly, and backs up Vicky--the large gentleman says Dog may not be one of these pedigree animals--which I can see for myself he isn't--but has no vice, and thoroughly good-natured and affectionate--and Felicity, at whom I look, nods twice--am reminded of Lord Burleigh, but do not know why--and mutters Oui, oui, pourquoi pas? --which she appears to think will be unintelligible to anyone except herself and me.

Final result is that Vicky, Robin and dog occupy most of the car on the way home, and I try and make up my mind how dog can best be introduced to Robert and Cook.

September 11th. --Decision reached--but cannot say how--that dog is to be kept, and that his name is to be Kolynos.

September 12th. --All is overshadowed by National Crisis, and terrific pronouncements regarding income-tax and need for economy. Our Vicar goes so far as to talk about the Pound from the pulpit, and Robert is asked by Felicity to explain the whole thing to her after dinner--which he very wisely refuses to do.

We lunch with the Frobishers, who are depressed, and say that the wages of everyone on the Estate will have to be reduced by ten per cent. ( Query: Why are they to be sympathised with on this account? Am much sorrier for their employés.)

Young Frobisher, who is down from Oxford, says that he has seen it coming for a long while now. (Should like to know why, in that case, he did not warn the neighbourhood.) He undertakes to make all clear--this, once more, at Felicity's request--and involved monologue follows, in which the Pound, as usual, figures extensively. Am absolutely no wiser at the end of it all than I was at the beginning and feel rather inclined to say so, but Lady F. offers me coffee, and asks after children--whom she refers to as "the boy and that dear little Virginia"--and we sink into domesticities and leave the Pound to others. Result is that it overshadows the entire evening and is talked about by Felicity and Robert all the way home in very learned but despondent strain.

( N.B. A very long while since I have heard Robert so eloquent, and am impressed by the fact that it takes a National Crisis to rouse him, and begin to wish that own conversational energies had not been dissipated for years on such utterly unworthy topics as usually call them forth. Can see dim outline of rather powerful article here, or possibly viers fibres more suitable form--but nothing can be done to-night.) Suggest hot milk to Felicity, who looks cold, take infinite trouble to procure this, but saucepan boils over and all is wasted.

September 13th. --Curious and regrettable conviction comes over me that Sunday in the country is entirely intolerable. Cannot, however, do anything about it.

Kolynos chases Helen Wills up small oak-tree, and eats arm and one ear off teddy-bear owned by Vicky. This not a success, and Robert says tersely that if the dog is going to do that kind of thing--and then leaves the sentence unfinished, which alarms us all much more than anything he could have said.

Am absent-minded in Church, but recalled by Robin singing hymn, entirely out of tune, and half a bar in advance of everybody else. Do not like to check evident zeal, and feel that this should come within Casabianca's province, but he takes no notice. ( Query: Perhaps he, like Robin, has no ear for music? He invariably whistles out of tune.)

Return to roast beef--underdone--and plates not hot. I say boldly that I think roast beef every Sunday is a mistake--why not chicken, or even mutton? but at this everyone looks aghast, and Robert asks What next, in Heaven's name? so feel it better to abandon subject, and talk about the Pound, now familiar topic in every circle.

General stupor descends upon Robert soon after lunch, and he retires to study with Blackwood's Magazine . Robin reads Punch ; Vicky, amidst customary protests, disappears for customary rest; and Casabianca is nowhere to be seen. Have strong suspicion that he has followed Vicky's example.

I tell Felicity that I must write some letters, and she rejoins that so must she, and we talk until twenty minutes to four, and then say that it doesn't really matter, as letters wouldn't have gone till Monday anyhow. (This argument specious at the moment, but has very little substance when looked at in cold blood.)

Chilly supper--only redeeming feature, baked potatoes--concludes evening, together with more talk of the Pound, about which Robert and Casabianca become, later on, technical and masculine, and Felicity and I prove unable to stay the course, and have recourse to piano instead.