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164 The Freelands
course you don't get to know them, but
it's very amusing to watch, especially the
head-dresses!" And sinking her voice:
"Just look at that one with the feather
going straight up; did you ever see such
a guy ? " and she cackled with a very gentle
archness. Gazing at that almost priceless
feather, trying to reach God, Nedda
felt suddenly how completely she was
in her grandmother's little camp; how
entirely she disliked bigwiggery.
Frances Freeland's voice brought her
round.
" Do you know, darling, I've found the
most splendid thing for eyebrows. You
just put a little on every night and it keeps
them in perfect order. I must give you
my little pot."
"I don't like grease, Granny."
" Oh ! but this isn't grease, darling. It's
a special thing; and you only put on just
the tiniest touch."
Diving suddenly into the recesses of
something, she produced an exiguous
round silver box. Prizing it open, she
looked over her shoulder at the Bigwigs,
then placed her little finger on the contents
of the little box, and said very
softly:
"You just take the merest touch, and
you put it on like that, and it keeps them
together beautifully. Let me! Nobody'll
see!"
Quite well understanding that this was
all part of her grandmother's passion for
putting the best face upon things, and
having no belief in her eyebrows, Nedda
bent forward; but in a sudden flutter of
fear lest the Bigwigs might observe the
operation, she drew back, murmuring:
"Oh, Granny, darling ! Not just now !"
At that moment the men came in, and,
under cover of the necessary confusion,
she slipped away into the window.
It was pitch-black outside, with the
moon not yet up. The bloomy, peaceful
dark out there ! Wistaria and early roses,
clustering in, had but the ghost of color on
their blossoms. Nedda took a rose in her
fingers, feeling with delight its soft fragility,
its coolness against her hot palm.
Here in her hand was a living thing, here
was a little soul! And out there in the
darkness were millions upon millions of
other little souls, of little flame-like or
coiled-up shapes alive and true.
A voice behind her said:
"Nothing nicer than darkness, is there ?"
She knew at once it was the one who
was going to bite; the voice was proper
for him, having a nice, smothery sound.
And looking round gratefully, she said:
"Do you like dinner-parties?"
It was jolly to watch his eyes twinkle
and his thin cheeks puff out. He shook
his head and muttered through that
straggly mustache:
"You're a niece, aren't you? I know
your father. He's a big man."
Hearing those words spoken of her
father, Nedda flushed.
"Yes, he is," she said fervently.
The one who was going to bite went on:
"He's got the gift of truth—can laugh
at himself as well as others; that's what
makes him precious. These hummingbirds
here to-night couldn't raise a smile
at their own tomfoolery to save their silly
souls."
He spoke still in that voice of smothery
wrath, and Nedda thought: 'He is nice !'
"They've been talking about 'the
Land' "—he raised his hands and ran them
through his palish hair—"'the Land!'
Heavenly Father ! 'The Land !' Look at
that fellow!"
Nedda looked and saw a man, like
Richard Coeur de Lion in the history
books, with a straw-colored mustache
just going gray.
"Sir Gerald Malloring—hope he's not
a friend of yours! Divine right of landowners
to lead ' the Land' by the nose!
And our friend Britto !"
Nedda, following his eyes, saw a robust,
quick-eyed man with a suave insolence in
his dark, clean-shaved face.
"Because at heart he's just a supercilious
ruffian, too cold-blooded to feel, he'll
demonstrate that it's no use to feel—
waste of valuable time—ha ! valuable !—
to act in any direction. And that's a man
they believe things of. And poor Henry
Wiltram, with his pathetic: 'Grow our
own food—maximum use of ' the Land' as
food-producer, and let the rest take care
of itself !' As if we weren't all long past
that feeble individualism; as if in these
days of world markets 'the Land' didn't
stand or fall in this country as a breedingground
of health and stamina and nothing
else. Well, well!"