Selected Stories by Katherine Mansfield Page B

smiled up at Laurie and didn’t tell him after all.
    Soon after that people began coming in streams. The band struck up; the hired waiters ran from the house to the marquee. Wherever you looked there were couples strolling, bending to the flowers, greeting, moving on over the lawn. They were like bright birds that had alighted in the Sheridans’ garden for this one afternoon, on their way to—where? Ah, what happiness it is to be with people who all are happy, to press hands, press cheeks, smile into eyes.
    â€œDarling Laura, how well you look!”
    â€œWhat a becoming hat, child!”
    â€œLaura, you look quite Spanish. I’ve never seen you look so striking.”
    And Laura, glowing, answered softly, “Have you had tea? Won’t you have an ice? The passion-fruit ices really are rather special.” She ran to her father and begged him: “Daddy darling, can’t the band have something to drink?”
    And the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, slowly faded, slowly its petals closed.
    â€œNever a more delightful garden-party . . .” “The greatest success . . .” “Quite the most . . .”
    Laura helped her mother with the good-byes. They stood side by side in the porch till it was all over.
    â€œAll over, all over, thank heaven,” said Mrs. Sheridan. “Round up the others, Laura. Let’s go and have some fresh coffee. I’m exhausted. Yes, it’s been very successful. But oh, these parties, these parties! Why will you children insist on giving parties!” And they all of them sat down in the deserted marquee.
    â€œHave a sandwich, daddy dear. I wrote the flag.”
    â€œThanks.” Mr. Sheridan took a bite and the sandwich was gone. He took another. “I suppose you didn’t hear of a beastly accident that happened to-day?” he said.
    â€œMy dear,” said Mrs. Sheridan, holding up her hand, “we did. It nearly ruined the party. Laura insisted we should put it off.”
    â€œOh, mother!” Laura didn’t want to be teased about it.
    â€œIt was a horrible affair all the same,” said Mr. Sheridan. “The chap was married too. Lived just below in the lane, and leaves a wife and half a dozen kiddies, so they say.”
    An awkward little silence fell. Mrs. Sheridan fidgeted with her cup. Really, it was very tactless of father. . . .
    Suddenly she looked up. There on the table were all those sandwiches, cakes, puffs, all uneaten, all going to be wasted. She had one of her brilliant ideas.
    â€œI know,” she said. “Let’s make up a basket. Let’s send that poor creature some of this perfectly good food. At any rate, it will be the greatest treat for the children. Don’t you agree? And she’s sure to have neighbours calling in and so on. What a point to have it all ready prepared. Laura!” She jumped up. “Get me the big basket out of the stairs cupboard.”
    â€œBut, mother, do you really think it’s a good idea?” said Laura.
    Again, how curious, she seemed to be different from them all. To take scraps from their party. Would the poor woman really like that?
    â€œOf course! What’s the matter with you to-day? An hour or two ago you were insisting on us being sympathetic.”
    Oh well! Laura ran for the basket. It was filled, it was now heaped by her mother.
    â€œTake it yourself, darling,” said she. “Run down just as you are. No, wait, take the arum lilies too. People of that class are so impressed by arum lilies.”
    â€œThe stems will ruin her lace frock,” said practical Jose.
    So they would. Just in time. “Only the basket, then. And, Laura!”—her mother followed her out of the marquee—“don’t on any account—”
    â€œWhat, mother?”
    No, better not put such ideas into the child’s head! “Nothing! Run along.”
    It was just growing dusky as Laura shut their garden gates. A big