The women of the party were just as keenly interested in the
matter, and just as helplessly perplexed; even the mother of
Clovis, who usually got good racing information from her
dressmaker, confessed herself fancy free on this occasion.
Colonel Drake, who was professor of military history at a minor
cramming establishment, was the only person who had a definite
selection for the event, but as his choice varied every three
hours he was worse than useless as an inspired guide. The
crowning difficulty of the problem was that it could only be
fitfully and furtively discussed. Lady Susan disapproved of
racing. She disapproved of many things; some people went as far
as to say that she disapproved of most things. Disapproval was to
her what neuralgia and fancy needlework are to many other women.
She disapproved of early morning tea and auction bridge, of ski-
ing and the two-step, of the Russian ballet and the Chelsea Arts
Club ball, of the French policy in Morocco and the British policy
everywhere. It was not that she was particularly strict or narrow
in her views of life, but she had been the eldest sister of a
large family of self-indulgent children, and her particular form
of indulgence had consisted in openly disapproving of the foibles
of the others.
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