As time went on, she gave me strange glimpses into this world. Her
husband did not seem really to enjoy its life. As Sylvia put it, "He
takes it for granted that he has to do all the proper things that
the proper people do. He hates to be conspicuous, he says. I point
out to him that the proper things are nearly always conspicuous, but
he replies that to fail to do them would be even more conspicuous."
It took me a long time to get really acquainted with Sylvia, because
of the extent to which this world was clamouring for her. I used to
drop in when she 'phoned me she had half an hour. I would find her
dressing for something, and she would send her maid away, and we
would talk until she would be late for some function; and that might
be a serious matter, because somebody would feel slighted. She was
always "on pins and needles" over such questions of precedent; it
seemed as if everybody in her world must be watching everybody else.
There was a whole elaborate science of how to treat the people you
met, so that they would not feel slighted--or so that they would
feel slighted, according to circumstances.
To the enjoyment of such a life it was essential that the person
should believe in it.
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