together. One of the two, then, was just padding - presumably the latter. Mrs. Macatta and the Hungarian countess could be ruled out of court. They were camouflage. No, the pivot of the whole thing seemed to be the unattractive Herr Eberhard. He did not seem to be the type of man whom George Lomax would normally invite. Bill had said vaguely that he invented. Then there was the Air Minister, and Sir Oswald Coote, who was steel. Somehow that seemed to hang together.
Since it was useless speculating further, Bundle abandoned the attempt and concentrated on her forthcoming interview with Lady Caterham.
The lady lived in a large gloomy house in one of London's higher class squares. Inside it smelt of sealing wax, bird seed and slightly decayed flowers. Lady Caterham was a large woman - large in every way. Her proportions were majestic, rather than ample. She had a large beaked nose, wore gold-rimmed pince-nez and her upper lip bore just the faintest suspicion of a moustache.
She was somewhat surprised to see her niece, but accorded her a frigid cheek, which Bundle duly kissed.
“This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Eileen,” she observed coldly.
“We've only just got back, Aunt Marcia.”
“I know. How is your father? Much as usual?”
Her tone conveyed disparagement. She had a poor opinion of Alastair Edward Brent, ninth Marquis of Caterham. She would have called him, had she known the term, a “poor fish.”
“Father is very well. He's down at Chimneys.”
“Indeed. You know, Eileen, I never approved of the letting of Chimneys. The place is in many ways a historical monument. It should not be cheapened.”
“It must have been wonderful in Uncle Henry's day,” said Bundle with a slight sigh.
“Henry realised his responsibilities,” said Henry's widow.
“Think of the people who stayed there,” went on Bundle ecstatically. “All the principal statesmen of Europe.”
Lady Caterham sighed.
“I can truly say that history has been made there more than once,” she observed. “If only your father -”
She shook her head sadly.
“Politics bore Father,” said Bundle, “and yet they are about the most fascinating study there is, I should say. Especially if one knew about them from the inside.”
She made this extravagantly untruthful statement of her feelings without even a blush. Her aunt looked at her with some surprise.
“I am pleased to hear you say so,” she said. “I always imagined, Eileen, that you cared for nothing but this modern pursuit of pleasure.”
“I used to,” said Bundle.
“It is true that you are still very young,” said Lady Caterham thoughtfully. “But with your advantages, and if you were to marry suitably, you might be one of the leading political hostesses of the day.”
Bundle felt slightly alarmed. For a moment she feared that her aunt might produce a suitable husband straight away.
“But I feel such a fool,” said Bundle. “I mean, I know so little.”
“That can easily be remedied,” said Lady Caterham briskly. “I have any amount of literature I can lend you.”
“Thank you, Aunt Marcia,” said Bundle, and proceeded hastily to her second line of attack.
“I wondered if you knew Mrs. Macatta, Aunt Marcia?”
“Certainly I know her. A most estimable woman with a brilliant brain. I may say that as a general rule I do not hold with women standing for Parliament. They can make their influence felt in a more womanly fashion.”
She paused, doubtless to recall the womanly way in which she had forced a reluctant husband into the political arena and the success which had crowned his efforts.
“But still, times change. And what Mrs. Macatta is doing is truly of the utmost value for all women. One may say, a true womanly work. Evidently, you must meet Mrs. Macatta.”
Bundle gave a rather dismal sigh.
“She's going to be at a house-party at George Lomax's next week. He asked Father, who, of course, won't go, but he never thought of asking me. Thinks
Since it was useless speculating further, Bundle abandoned the attempt and concentrated on her forthcoming interview with Lady Caterham.
The lady lived in a large gloomy house in one of London's higher class squares. Inside it smelt of sealing wax, bird seed and slightly decayed flowers. Lady Caterham was a large woman - large in every way. Her proportions were majestic, rather than ample. She had a large beaked nose, wore gold-rimmed pince-nez and her upper lip bore just the faintest suspicion of a moustache.
She was somewhat surprised to see her niece, but accorded her a frigid cheek, which Bundle duly kissed.
“This is quite an unexpected pleasure, Eileen,” she observed coldly.
“We've only just got back, Aunt Marcia.”
“I know. How is your father? Much as usual?”
Her tone conveyed disparagement. She had a poor opinion of Alastair Edward Brent, ninth Marquis of Caterham. She would have called him, had she known the term, a “poor fish.”
“Father is very well. He's down at Chimneys.”
“Indeed. You know, Eileen, I never approved of the letting of Chimneys. The place is in many ways a historical monument. It should not be cheapened.”
“It must have been wonderful in Uncle Henry's day,” said Bundle with a slight sigh.
“Henry realised his responsibilities,” said Henry's widow.
“Think of the people who stayed there,” went on Bundle ecstatically. “All the principal statesmen of Europe.”
Lady Caterham sighed.
“I can truly say that history has been made there more than once,” she observed. “If only your father -”
She shook her head sadly.
“Politics bore Father,” said Bundle, “and yet they are about the most fascinating study there is, I should say. Especially if one knew about them from the inside.”
She made this extravagantly untruthful statement of her feelings without even a blush. Her aunt looked at her with some surprise.
“I am pleased to hear you say so,” she said. “I always imagined, Eileen, that you cared for nothing but this modern pursuit of pleasure.”
“I used to,” said Bundle.
“It is true that you are still very young,” said Lady Caterham thoughtfully. “But with your advantages, and if you were to marry suitably, you might be one of the leading political hostesses of the day.”
Bundle felt slightly alarmed. For a moment she feared that her aunt might produce a suitable husband straight away.
“But I feel such a fool,” said Bundle. “I mean, I know so little.”
“That can easily be remedied,” said Lady Caterham briskly. “I have any amount of literature I can lend you.”
“Thank you, Aunt Marcia,” said Bundle, and proceeded hastily to her second line of attack.
“I wondered if you knew Mrs. Macatta, Aunt Marcia?”
“Certainly I know her. A most estimable woman with a brilliant brain. I may say that as a general rule I do not hold with women standing for Parliament. They can make their influence felt in a more womanly fashion.”
She paused, doubtless to recall the womanly way in which she had forced a reluctant husband into the political arena and the success which had crowned his efforts.
“But still, times change. And what Mrs. Macatta is doing is truly of the utmost value for all women. One may say, a true womanly work. Evidently, you must meet Mrs. Macatta.”
Bundle gave a rather dismal sigh.
“She's going to be at a house-party at George Lomax's next week. He asked Father, who, of course, won't go, but he never thought of asking me. Thinks
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