“She isn’t that old,” he said, bemused. “Not so old as to say that she musthave beena great beauty.”
“Don’t you think so?”
“Of course I don’t. She’s younger than me, and probably only slightly older than you.”
“Oh,” said Miss Prim.
He glanced at her, intrigued, and then looked back at the road.
“You don’t believe me? She really is.”
“Of course I believe you,” she said, “though it is surprising.”
“What is?”
Miss Prim, who had started to feel better, relieved of the tension in the pit of her stomach, lowered the window slightly, letting in a gust of icy air.
“Some women are unfortunate in that they wither before their time,” she murmured.
“Wither before their time? What nonsense. In my opinion Herminia is a young, attractive woman.”
Miss Prim, suddenly feeling the same tiresome tightening in her stomach, was silent.
“Why don’t you say something?”
“What can I say?”
“I suppose you could make a comment on what I just said.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why?”
“Because it wouldn’t be tactful.”
“What wouldn’t be tactful?”
“It wouldn’t be tactful to continue talking about another woman to a man, especially about things he doesn’t understand.”
“So that’s it,” he said, trying not to smile.
They continued the journey without another word until the car drew up outside the tearoom, where the Christmas committee was waiting.
“Would you like me to pick you up when you’ve finished?” he asked politely, leaning across to open her door.
“There’s no need, thank you,” she said coldly.
“Miss Prim, look at the sky: it’s about to snow heavily.”
“I’m perfectly well aware of that, thanks.”
“Well, if you’re perfectly well aware of it, then I’ve got nothing further to say. Enjoy your afternoon,” he said, frowning, before restarting the engine.
Miss Prim straightened her hat in the tearoom window. She felt annoyed; she couldn’t conceal it. The excessive praise of Herminia Treaumont had bothered her deeply—it would be absurd to deny it. But surely it would bother any woman? Surely any woman would find it disagreeable to be stuck in a car with a man who wouldn’t stop showering compliments on another person? What kind of man insisted over and over on the extreme beauty of one woman in the presence of another? It was an intolerable lack of courtesy and, without courtesy, all was lost. She knew it because she’d seen it in her own home. Year after year she’d watched courtesy evaporate from her parents’ marriage. She’d experienced firsthand the effects of the lack of courtesy in her relationship with her sister. And now, when she seemed to have arrived at a place where formality still had a raison d’être, precisely now she had just endured the company of a man who couldn’t stop talking about the sublime qualities and dazzling beauty of another woman.
Herminia was an interesting woman. So what? Wasn’t she, too? Herminia was attractive—fine. Couldn’t the same be said about her as well? He was perfectly free to be enchanted by the woman if he wanted, she had no objection, but did he have to show it so obviously? Miss Prim had always been against public displays of sentiment. In her view, in civilized societies people had private homes in which they could give free rein to their feelings without others being obliged to witness it. Emotional excess, she reasoned as she adjusted her coat collar, was characteristic of primitive societies and equally primitive individuals. And anyway, wasn’t she an employee? Was it necessary to subject an employee to a show of feelings as he had just done in the car? Miss Prim did not believe it was. And not only did she not believe it, but she was convinced that there must be some kind of regulation prohibiting such behavior.
Still annoyed, she entered the tearoom, where small lamps at every table created a warm, welcoming atmosphere.
