ny little man who seemed to know us very well。 He said he was called Mr Samgrass。 Apparently he's one of Lord Copper's middle…aged young men on the Daily Beast。 I tried to feed him some paragraphs； but he seemed to know more about you than I do。 He said he'd met me years ago at Brideshead。 I wish Julia had e in； then we could have asked her about him。'
'I remember him well。He's a crook。'
'Yes； that stuck out a mile。 He's been talking all about what he calls the 〃'Brideshead set〃； Apparently Rex Mottram has made the place a nest of party mutiny。 Did you know？ What would Teresa Marchmain have thought？'
'I'm going there tonight。'
'Not tonight； Charles； you can't go there tonight。 You're expected at home。 You promised； as soon as the exhibition was ready； you'd e home。 Johnjohn and Nanny have made a banner with 〃Wele〃 on it。 And you haven't seen Caroline yet。'
'I'm sorry； it's all settled。'
'Besides； Daddy will think it so odd。 And Boy is home for Sunday。 And you haven't seen the new studio。 You can't go tonight。 Did they ask me？'
'Of course； but I knew you wouldn't be able to e。'
'I can't now。 I could have； if you'd let me know earlier。 I should adore to see the 〃Brideshead set〃 at home。 I do think you re perfectly beastly； but this is no time for a family rumpus。 The Clarences promised to e in before luncheon； they may be here any minute。'
We were interrupted； however； not by royalty； but by a woman reporter from one of the dailies； whom the manager of the gallery now led up to us。 She had not e to see the pictures but to get a 〃human story〃 of the dangers of my journey。 I left her to my wife； and next day read in her paper： 'Charles 〃Stately Homes〃 Ryder steps off the map。 That the snakes and vampires of the jungle have nothing on Mayfair is the opinion of socialite artist Ryder； who has； abandoned the houses of the great for the ruins of equatorial Africa。。。'
The rooms began to fill and I was soon busy being civil。 My wife was everywhere； greeting people； introducing people； deftly transforming the crowd into a party。 I saw her lead friends forward one after another to the subscription list that had been opened for the book of Ryder's Latin America I heard her say： 'No； darling； I'm not at all surprised； but you wouldn't expect me to be； would you？ You see Charles lives for one thing … Beauty。 I think he got bored with finding it ready…made in England； he had to go and create it for himself。 He wanted new worlds to conquer。 After all； he has said the last word about country houses； hasn't he？ Not； I mean； that he's given that up altogether。 I'm sure he'll always do one or two more for friends。' A photographer brought us together； flashed a lamp in our faces； and let us part。
Presently there was the slight hush and edging away which follows the entry of a royal party。 I saw my wife curtsey and heard her say： 'Oh； sir； you are sweet'； then I was led into the clearing and the Duke of Clarence said： 'Pretty hot out there I should think。'
'It was； sir。'
'Awfully clever the way you've hit off the impression of heat。 Makes me feel quite unfortable in my greatcoat。'
'Ha； ha。'
When they had gone my wife said： 'Goodness； we're late for lunch。 Margot's giving a party in your honour； and in the taxi she said： 'I've just thought of something。 Why don't you write and ask the Duchess of Clarence's permission to dedicate Latin America to her？'
'Why should I？'
'She'd love it so。'
'I wasn't thinking of dedicating it to anyone。'
'There you are； that's typical of you； Charles。 Why miss an opportunity to give pleasure？'
There were a dozen at luncheon； and though it pleased my hostess and my wife to say that they were there in my honour； it was plain to me that half of them did not know of my exhibition and had e because they had been invited and had no other engagement。 Throughout luncheon they talked； without stopping； of Mrs Simpson； but they all； or nearly all； came back with us to the gallery。
The hour after luncheon was the busiest time。 There were representatives of the Tate Gallery and the National Art Collections Fund； who all promised to return shortly with colleagues and； in the meantime； reserved certain pictures for further consideration。 The most influential critic； who in the past had dismissed me with a few wounding mendations； peered out at me from between his slouch hat and woollen muffler； gripped my arm； and said： 'I knew you had it。 I saw it there。 I've been waiting for it。'
From fashionable and unfashionable lips alike I heard fragments of praise。 'If you'd asked me to guess；' I overheard； 'Ryder's is the last name would have occurred to me。 They're so virile； so passionate。'
They all thought they had found something new。 It had not been thus at my last exhibition in these same rooms； shortly before my going abroad。 Then there had been an unmistakable note of weariness。 Then the talk had been less of me than of the houses； anecdotes of their owners。 That same woman； it came back to me； who now applauded my virility and passion； had stood quite near me； before a painfully laboured canvas； and said； 'So facile。'
I remembered the exhibition； too； for another reason； it was the week I detected my wife in adultery。 Then； as now； she was； a tireless hostess； and I heard her say： 'Whenever I see anything lovely nowadays … a building or a piece of scenery … I think to myself； 〃that's by Charles〃。 I see everything through his eyes。 He is England to me。'
I heard her say that； it was the sort of thing she had the habit of saying。 Throughout our married life； again and again； I had felt my bowels shrivel within me at the things she said。 But that day； in this gallery； I heard her unmoved； and suddenly realized that she was powerless to hurt me any more； I was a free man； she had given me my manumission in that brief； sly lapse of hers； my cuckold's horns made me lord of the forest。
At the end of the day my wife said： 'Darling； I must go。 It's been a terrific success； hasn't it？ I'll think of something to tell them at home； but I wish it hadn't got to happen quite this way。'
'So she knows；' I thought。 'She's a sharp one。 She's had her nose down since luncheon and picked up the scent。'
I let her get clear of the place and was about to follow … the rooms were nearly empty … when I heard a voice at the turnstile I had not heard for many years； an unforgettable self…taught stammer； a sharp cadence of remonstration。
'No。 I have not brought a card of invitation。 I do not even know whether I received one。 I have not e to a social function… I do not seek to scrape acquaintance with Lady Celia； I do not want my photograph in the Tatler； I have not e to exhibit myself。 I have e to see the pictures。 Perhaps you are unaware that there are any pictures here。 I happen to have a personal interest in the artist … if that word has any meaning for you。'
'Antoine' I said； 'e in。'
'My dear； there is a g…g…gorgon here who thinks I am g…g…gate…crashing。 I only arrived in London yesterday； and heard quite by chance at luncheon that you were having an exhibition； so； of course I dashed impetuously to the shrine to pay homage。 Have I changed？ Would you recognize me？ Where are； the pictures？ Let me explain them to you。'
Anthony Blanche had not changed from when I last saw him； not； indeed； from when I first saw him。 He swept lightly across the room to the most prominent canvas … a jungle landscape paused a moment； his head cocked like a knowing terrier； and asked： 'Where； my dear Charles； did you find this sumptuous greenery？ The er of a hothouse at T…t…rent or T…t…tring？ What gorgeous usurer nurture。d these fronds for your pleasure？' Then he made a tour of the two rooms； once or twice he sighed deeply； otherwise he kept silence。 When he came to the end he sighed once more； more deeply than ever； and said： 'But they tell me； My dear； you are happy in love。 That is everything； is it not； or nearly everything？'
'Are they as bad as that？'
Anthony dropped his voice to a piercing whisper： 'My dear； let us not expose your little imposture before these good； plain people' … he gave a conspiratorial glance to the