The New Moon with the Old by Dodie Smith Page A

would need the most careful consideration as all clothes taken should be suitable for adult wear. She feared that few things would pass the test with flying colours except her one pair of high-heeled shoes and her superb running-away outfit which she had tried on before dinner.
    In the spring Clare had misguidedly bought a thick white polo-necked sweater, a boldly checked black-and-white skirt, and a very full black coat. The neck of the sweater made her head look too small, Drew insisted the skirt was a stolen horse-blanket, and the coat was generally held to indicate imminent motherhood. Clare’s Folly – swiftly so named – had soon been relegated to the box-room cupboard, where clothes intended for rummage sales were kept. Before dinner, while surreptitiously getting her suitcase, Merry had abstracted Clare’s Folly, replacing it with her school uniform.
    It was pleasant to reflect that if any search was made for her it would be for a mousy, uniformed schoolgirl, not for a Titian-haired adult in dashing clothes. And the clothes, Merry was sure, would suit her splendidly as she was tall enough to carry them, nearly four inches taller than Clare. True, the skirt would be short but not so very as it had been too long for Clare. Anyway, short skirts were dashing – and only grown-ups wore them; schoolgirls wore their skirts drearily long.
    After spending over an hour going through her clothes, Merry found their juvenility so depressing that she took a long look at Clare’s Folly just to cheer herself up. It really was splendidly mature. But she must not only look mature; she must feel it – and a first step towards that would be to sound it. She would now decide what voice to use.
    It must be more sophisticated than her normal voice, and she must be more than usually careful to speak what she believed Drama Schools called Accepted Southern English – not to be confused with what she and Betty called Affected Southern English, as spoken by many radio announcers. Merry had once mimicked this by saying: ‘In this perm, the pert speaks of his longing for herm.’
    An inner monologue in mature Accepted Southern English now began, while she packed the least-juvenile of her clothes and selected stockings, handkerchiefs and many small possessions. The monologue became so interesting when she heard herself coping with various imagined situations – such as the amorous intentions of admiring theatrical managers – that she sat entranced, just listening to herself. This would never do. The night was passing. Sternly she concentrated on packing. What books should she allow herself? Only Shakespeare. It was agony to leave all her other plays but the suitcase was already overflowing.
    Now to assemble her money – from three boxes: spending money in the first box, savings towards Christmas presents in the second, savings towards theatre visits in the third. Grand total: nearly twelve pounds. She would also take the diamond brooch which had been her share of her mother’s jewellery, though she hoped she would have no need to part with it. She was confident she would find a job before her money was used up.
    Her hair would certainly be dry by now. She removed the net in front of her looking glass, then gasped in dismay. The colour reminded her of badly polished mahogany and combing did nothing to improve it. Had she time to wash it again? No – and what would be the use? The tinting was said to remain for several shampoos. Perhaps a hairdresser could help her but for the present she was stuck with this horrible thatch and could only hide it with a head scarf.
    To cheer herself up she put on her new brassière. This was no make-shift bust such as had let her down when she played Juliet. She had told the astonished shop-assistant it must be earthquake proof and it certainly seemed so. Now for the checked skirt and polo-necked sweater! Magnificent effect! A soft white woollen prow jutted in front of her. Unfortunately it oniy looked