The Rose Garden by Maeve Brennan Page B

hear about it?”
    â€œOf course I want to hear about it. I’m always interested in your little do’s, Leona. I simply wanted to say that titles are not so uncommon as you seem to imagine, my dear. I don’t think you should permit yourself to be quite so fluttery about this Lady Ailesbury-Rhode. You’re being quite girlish, my love. You’re flapping. It isn’t altogether becoming, Leona.”
    â€œOh, Charles, I’m sorry. Don’t scold me. I’m afraid I got carried away. I’m such a fool. But do let’s talk about the party. Imagine how jealous Dolly and Laura—and, oh, all of them—are going to be. Why, if you think I’m bad, you should hear them. I mean they’re simply slavish about titles. Of course, I don’t care a bit, one way or another, but it is fun to have the only titled relative at the Retreat. Don’t you see, Charles?”
    â€œOf course I see, Leona. Rather, I understand your excitement, although I deplore it. I rather hoped you had matured beyond that kind of behavior. But the other girls will indeed be green with envy. Pea green. You say the old lady—she is quite old, isn’t she?—telephoned you this morning. Had she written you from Ottawa?”
    â€œWell, no, Charles. Why should she?”
    Charles smiled disagreeably. “I hope you won’t find her difficult. Bridie is a very precious servant, you know. You don’t want Bridie flouncing out in a rage because some titled Englishwoman steps on her toes. You’d better be on guard, my dear. House guests are a very touchy proposition, especially when they happen to be people you don’t know awfully well.”
    â€œOh, Charles,” Leona said reproachfully.
    There was a nervous silence.
    â€œAfter all, this was Tommy’s house,” Leona went on, “and it’s only right that his aunt should come out here for a visit, probably the only visit she’ll ever have a chance to make here. And think how she’ll enjoy you, Charles! She’s no doubt expecting to meet a lot of dull little husbands and wives. You’ll be a revelation to her.”
    â€œAll right. But don’t say you weren’t warned. Let’s talk about the party. Whom did you think of asking?”
    â€œEveryone!” Leona cried. “Just everyone in the Retreat, Charles, darling. Cocktails, a buffet supper, the works. We’ll probably go on all night. It’s going to be the best party. It’ll be the last really big party before Christmas.”
    Aloof, even frigid, frowning a little to show he still harbored misgivings, Charles began to plan the party for Lady Ailesbury-Rhode.
    The gratitude Leona felt toward Charles blinded her to the possibility that he might be jealous, and ordinarily she would have taken his disparaging remarks about her relative as an indication that he was in a bad mood; that is to say, annoyed with her. For Leona, a consistent worshiper, could imagine and could perceive only two moods in her god. Either Charles was mercifully disposed to her or he was not. Out of favor with him, she felt painfully bewildered and could hardly endure herself while she waited for him to approve of her again, and then, when the change came and he smiled on her and called her darling caressingly instead of with sarcasm, the pain went out of her bewilderment, and she found its absence pleasant and called herself happy. Charles’s pronouncements on Lady Ailesbury-Rhode shocked her, but only for a moment. Her anticipation of her coming social triumph had already swelled into an airy, lightheaded satisfaction that could be punctured by no one—not even Charles.
    On the following Friday afternoon at three o’clock, Lady Ailesbury-Rhode had not yet arrived, and Leona ran upstairs to take another last look at her guest’s bedroom. There was nothing there that she could improve, and she descended nervously into her large, square