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Gemma went.

Then it all began.

It was unbelievable, Gemma thought dazedly afterwards, how Mrs. Mannering could praise yet at the same time damn. Damn faintly, indeed so faintly it could be your own imagination, and yet. . .

“How gloriously slim you arc! Yet are you fit with it? Often it’s otherwise, unhappily, and inland life is only for the robust. You’re beautifully fair, aren’t you, dear? A pity, perhaps. The sun does such damage to blondes, especially tawny ones. Tawny ones seem to invite the ray, I always think. Then up here we have to watch for skin cancers. Such a bore!

“Now about your godfather, dear, Mr. Bernard Drews—he was quite a figure, wasn’t he, a really remarkable man. But not any consolation to you now, I expect, I mean not in worldly comfort, for they tell me that scientists are sadly unrewarded. And worldly comfort does count. Believe me, Gemma dear, since beef went down we pastoralists have learned that.”

Gemma’s parents came next. What profession had her father followed ? How nice . . . though no doubt Gemma’s mother must have sighed often for a more lucrative calling.

Gemma’s school? Close attention to this.

Gemma’s work? Well, all the girls these days were having careers, and she was glad, anyway, that
Gemma had chosen commerce, not modelling or acting, as many seemed to be doing of late, for where would modelling and acting fit in up here? But now that there had been a necessary reduction of staff she was sure that their book-keeper would be pleased with a little help at times.

Finally . . . and a little-girl smile that somehow did not look ridiculous on this mature woman ... a more pleasant topic, Gemma my dear.

Dresses. What had Gemma brought for her engagement and wedding gowns?

That topic, thought Gemma dismally, might be pleasant to Mrs. Mannering, but it was not, in the circumstances, particularly pleasant to her.

She cleared her throat and began the sad saga of Harriet and the wedding outfit.

She did not mention Tim Torrance’s part in the unfortunate episode, only the calf’s.

“The driver handed me this calf,” she said. She added hurriedly: “But Harriet—I mean the calf is gone now. I took it over to Mr. Mitchell’s.”

Up till then, Mrs. Mannering had received everything quite well, even inserted an amused little laugh here and there. But at the mention of Chris, she said sweetly but definitely to Gemma:

“We have very little to do with the Mitchells, dear. No, there’s nothing you can put a finger on, save the inevitable boundary fence disagreement here and there, but they’re such—well, dull people. Not—well, not our class of people at all. Just no standing, Gemma. Then that absurd Isabel with her ridiculous good deeds! Really, it’s too ludicrous. I’m sorry you left the wretched thing there, but never mind, it’s done now.

Tell me about your ill-fated dress.”

“I made it myself.’’ Gemma had been very proud of that fact, but she saw at once that Mrs. Mannering was patently unimpressed.

“Very sentimental, I’m sure, but for an occasion like a wedding I believe one needs a little more than love in every stitch.” Mrs. Mannering touched Gemma’s hand gently to show that there was no ill will meant.

“What material, dear?” she begged prettily.

“A sort of lacy sheer.”

“Oh, no!”

“Gathered and very full,” Gemma went on.

“My dear Gemma, do you know what, I think your absurd calf did us a good deed after all. You must have something very straight, very regal, even severe, and, of course, embossed. A beautiful sculptured material that depends entirely on line. We’ll send to David Jones at once.”

“But—” Gemma began.

“Vida will check your size, and I’ll write tonight. Now about your engagement party dress.”

“That is intact,” Gemma assured her.

“What is it, dear?”

Gemma told her, and this time received approval. “Unsophistication by all means for an engagement. And I’m so relieved it’s white, because I’m planning an entirely white function.”

“What, Mrs. Mannering?”

“My mother,” came in Bruce at this juncture, “does these sort of things beautifully. You'll be amazed, Gemma.”

“Every thing will be white,” repeated Mrs. Mannering. “We’ll write for white flowers, since we could never hope to supply those ourselves, not out here.”

“If it was blue we could,” Gemma said mechanically. She could not believe what was happening. “We could have Salvation Jane.”

“That’s a weed. No, gardenias, I think, orchids, roses. And you and the girls can get to work making mock waterlilies.”

“Mock waterlilies?”

“Much as I would prefer the real thing, I doubt if a real waterlily could support a candle. You see, I intend to float these waterlilies, each with a lit candle in its cup, around our pool—that’s where the party will be staged. Oh, Bruce dear, I will also want the little punt painted white. I plan to pile it high with white roses. Also I want—”

Gemma sat stupefied . .. stupefied was the only word she could have given to the way she felt.

“Guests will fly in from every state,” continued Mrs. Mannering, “and of course we always fly in the caterers and the orchestra.” A pause. “They, too, must wear white. White jackets or white tuxedos.” In a small disbelieving voice Gemma asked : “Who else besides the caterers and the orchestra will wear white ?”

“
Everyone
. I told you, dear, it will be a white party. So virginal. So young and sweet. When I think how Bruce wanted—” A little shrug and a reproachful look at her son . . . but followed at once with an obviously disquieting thought.

“You
haven’t been married before, Gemma?”

"No.” Gemma added dully: “Nor even engaged.”

“So suitable. Now where was I up to?”

“White.” It was Gemma again. Bruce was just standing there. Vida was still estimating. Jim Willis had slipped out. Janet’s eyes were down.

“Oh, yes. All the ladies in white gowns as directed on the invitations,” said Mrs. Mannering. “All the gentlemen in white suits as also directed.”

“The men in white suits?” Gemma was now sitting very still. Again she was reading an invitation that a man in oil-stained pants and greasy sweatshirt had taken out of his pocket and handed to her.

The presence is requested .. . Gemma Glasson of Sydney ... Bruce Mannering of Mannering Park ... of Mr. Timothy Torrance.

But she could not remember reading anything about dress.

“I don’t think Gemma believes you.” It was Janet, eyes up again, shaking drily, wryly, something enigmatical in her rather husky voice. “Haven’t you seen the invitations, Gemma?”

“No. Yes. I mean—”

“Poor child, we're rushing her,” It was Mrs. Mannering now, sweetly, tenderly concerned. “Show your dear girl the invitations, Bruce, and really, Bruce, I thought you would have done this before.”

“I’ve been very busy, Mother.” Bruce produced the same embossed card that the Territorian had, and passed it over. He looked sulky.

Gemma read it quickly. She already knew what it said. But what she wanted to know now was what she had
missed
... if she had missed it.

Yes, she had. It was there quite clearly. Just after the date for the R.S.V.P. A chaste but unmistakable:

ALL WHITE, PLEASE, DEAR LADIES AND

GENTLEMEN. THANK YOU, ROBERTA MANNERING.

All Gemma could think for the moment was: “So her name is Roberta.” Then she thought:

“Him
in white! The savage in a white suit! He may clean up well, but I hardly think he’ll clean up as well as that, as a thirty-six-wheeler in a white coat and white slacks! Not a man who answers his invitation with a thumbnail dipped in tar!” She felt very near hysterical laughter.

But she contained herself. She handed Bruce back the tasteful white invitation.

“It’s very nice, Mrs. Mannering,” she praised.

Back in the Willis house, where it had been decided she would stay until after the big day, Gemma made blindly for her bedroom, but she was stopped before she could get there by a convulsed Janet.

“If only you could have seen your face!” Janet started laughing again.

“Janet, Mrs. Mannering—your mother—she couldn’t.”

“My mother can, will, and it will be quite wonderful. You’ll see.”

“It sounds like a stage show,” sighed Gemma ruefully.

“It will be pure opera. Classic opera. Everything will be in perfect taste. It will go off without a hitch. That’s Mamma.”

“Well, I must admit she is a remarkable woman.”

“I told you so.”

There was a small silence. Then Gemma said hopefully : “Also she seemed to like me.”

“Look, Gemma, she loved you. Anyone previously unmarried or unattached is manna from heaven to Mamma at this particular moment. I’m not saying a little money as well wouldn’t have improved things, but—”

“But being unmarried is the first requisite?”

“Yes.”

“Janet, I feel it only fair that I should know more. Was Bruce—was your brother—was he—”

"Yes,” nodded Janet, not very concerned. “He was, or tried to be, entangled. I may as well tell you. Up here everyone tells everything in time, and you’ll be sure to learn sooner or later.”

“Learn what?” asked Gemma.

“That Bruce was badly smitten with a married woman. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him rebel against Mamma. I think he would even have gone ahead with it, too, only Jenny Lawson simply didn’t care two hoots about Bruce.”

“Jenny was the married woman?”

“Yes. She turned Bruce down.”

“So—so he came to Sydney and asked me.”

“Well, you could say that in a way, I suppose, if you weren’t such an attractive girl,” Janet said frankly. “No, I think Bruce was really taken with you, but I think, too, bringing someone home to spite Mother hurried it up quite a deal. But it didn’t spite Mother after all As you could see just now, it delighted her, even though you brought no welcome dowry. Mother is absolutely thrilled at putting all our talkative friends in their places by staging this white horror.”

“You said it would be done beautifully.”

“It will be. Everything always is. Take no notice of me.

“What happened to this Jenny?” Gemma asked after a pause.

“She eventually got rid of her husband. He was a pig, and I don’t blame her.”

“Through evidence with Bruce?” Well, thought Gemma, I have to know some time.

“Oh, heavens, no! Through the Territorian.”

“Tim—Tim Torrance?”

“Yes. He’s no good, you know,” Janet said quite cheerfully. “After encouraging Jenny to go ahead, he faded out quick-smart when she followed his advice and did. There was quite a scandal about it—poor little girl left high and dry and all that. That’s when Bruce stepped in with his offer, and poor Mother had kittens. But Jenny wouldn’t look at Bruce. She finally married another man, and, or so they say, is living happily ever after.”

“I just can’t believe it,” said Gemma.

“Don’t tell me you thought the wicked world stopped at Sydney!” Janet laughed again, then resumed.

“Our dear Mamma was thankful when it was all over, and that, I think, is why she has greeted you with such very wide open arms. Such relief, Gemma, to have someone sweet, unsullied and unmarried. But the thing that really bugs me is her change of attitude over the Territorian. He was taboo for me, and should be, on the basis of his history with Jenny Lawson, for Vida. I mean what’s expected of you for Bruce should be expected of Tim for V. But it’s entirely different now for Vida. The reason, of course, is the fall in beef and the Territorian’s millions.” Janet’s laugh was now brief and dry and unamused. “Did you know,” she said, "that Mother has actually invited him to your ‘do’ ?”

“Oh,” replied Gemma. She found she could not say Yes, she found she could not say No, so she just left t at that. At: “Oh.”

“Yes, she has invited the Territorian to Mannering Park. History is being made. And you just stand and say ‘Oh’.”

“I’m sorry, Janet.”

“ There’ll be members of parliament here, heads of state, a baronet op two.”

. . . And a man in oil-stained pants and a sweatshirt, Gemma thought.

“There’ll be dress rehearsals,” Janet went on, “Bruce will carry a stopwatch to check the timing of everything. Jim will supervise a party of carpenters for the bachelor and spinster digs in the barns. The engagement cake will be flown in . . . no, my dear, no home-made touch for an occasion like this.

“And you and Vida and I will make countless waterlilies. Weil put holes in them to support a candle. At the rehearsed moment all lights will be put off and only the candlelight remain.”

“Janet, please stop!” begged Gemma.

“But it will be very romantic, Gemma,” baited Janet relentlessly, “perhaps more romantic still if you’d brought some money with you, dear. But not to worry, when the Territorian meets our Vida’s eyes across a candlelit pool, across a punt piled with roses, we won’t be worrying about Bruce’s bride and what she
didn't
bring, not with the road boss’s millions.”

“Janet!” Gemma said it quite sharply now.

“Yes, Janet, you’ve gone a bit too far.” It was
Jim. Neither of them had seen him join them.

“It’s the truth, though, isn’t it?” Janet was a little hysterical by now. “Everyone in the Establishment has to bring something. Gemma brought her innocence. Even you, Jim, brought something. You came along with know-how, faithful service, the promise of faithful service in years to come.”

“And I brought love,” Jim said solidly, his eyes never wavering from his wife’s.

With a strangled little cry, Janet ran outside.

Jim did not speak for a while. He crossed to the bar and mixed two drinks, then handed one to Gemma.

“I think you need this. I know I do.”

Gemma felt she did need it, and she drank it gratefully.

“You don’t want to. take it too seriously,” Jim advised presently.

“Didn’t you when it was you?”

“I was spared a lot. After all, a Mannering daughter was not a Mannering son, and after all, a foreman, or manager, you name it and I’ll answer to it, was not exactly a first prize.”