p
and imprisoned her in this vivarium to which he alone had access, where
he could enjoy his capture to the full.

'And the capture's business is to get as much out of the captor as
possible, so as to buy its freedom back.' This was Victoria's new
philosophy. She had dexterously induced Cairns to give her a thousand a
year. She knew perfectly well that she could live on seven hundred,
perhaps on six. Besides, she played on his pride. Cairns was after all
only a big middle-aged boy; it made him swell to accompany Victoria to
Sloane Street to buy a hat, to the Leicester Gallery to see the latest
one-man show. She was a credit to a fellow. Thus she found no difficulty
in making him buy her sables, gold purses, Whistler etchings. They would
come in handy, she reflected, 'when the big bust-up came.' For Victoria
was not rocking herself in the transitory, but from the very first
making ready for the storm which follows on the longest stretch of fair
weather.

'Yes,' said Victoria again to the mirror, 'you mean business.' The door
opened and almost noiselessly closed. Mary brought in a tray covered
with a clean set of silver-backed brushes, and piled up the other ready
to take away. She put a water can on the washstand and parsimoniously
measured into it some attar of roses. Victoria stepped out into the
middle of the room and stood there braced and stiff as the maid unlaced
and then tightened her stays.

'What will you wear this evening, mum?' asked Mary, as Victoria sat down
in the low dressing chair opposite the swinging glass.

'This evening,' mused Victoria. 'Let me see, there's the _gris perle_.'

'No, mum, I've sent it to the cleaner's,' said Mary. Her fingers were
deftly removing the sham curls from Victoria's back hair.

'You've worn it four times, mum,' she added reproachfully.

'Oh, have I? I don't think. . . . oh, that's all right, Mary.'

Victoria reflected that she would never have a well-trained maid if she
finished sentences such as this. Four times! Well, she must give the
Major his money's worth.

'You might wear your red Directoire, mum,' suggested Mary in the
unemotional tones of one who is paid not to hear slips.

'I might. Yes. Perhaps it's a little loud for the Carlton.'

'Yes, mum,' said Mary without committing herself.

'After all, I don't think it is so loud.'

'No, mum,' said Mary in even tones. She deftly rolled her mistress'
plaits round the crown.

Victoria felt vaguely annoyed. T