Vivienne wanted Vera to notice her face eventually. First, however, there was the dress to consider. On Saturday she would open the door, step back, make one turn, and then look at the woman who had come for her. The proposal required, as Vivienne readily acknowledged, Vera's complete attention. She was taking Vera's hand while she explained it, which rather complicated her attempt to present the arrangement as practical. Before Vera found something clever to say, Vivienne wanted to see her expression. A little silence, she thought, might be the part she remembered longest.
Vera agreed to the attention. She was less prepared to promise when she would speak. If she said Vivienne looked beautiful before the revolution was complete, she did not want to be accused of spoiling the evidence. Besides, there was an obvious weakness in the scheme: Vivienne could hardly study her face while facing away. Vera asked her to look now, without arranging herself. There was chalk on one of Vivienne's fingers. Their hands were joined. Vera was finding the present arrangement difficult to improve upon. The planned entrance had acquired a formidable rival before Saturday had even arrived.
Vivienne's prepared answer failed her. She had been keeping something ready about Vera being the reason the chalk would not come off; now, brought into the open, it sounded dreadful. She thanked her instead. She liked being looked at by Vera. The admission needed no turn, and it explained why she had wanted control of those first few seconds at the door. A remark like Vera's could take away the sentence she had been saving. Vivienne wanted to complete one magnificent entrance before she found herself standing there smiling, with nothing useful left in her head.
That was an entrance Vera could imagine enjoying: Vivienne smiling, herself struggling to congratulate herself without looking insufferable. She conceded that she was already doing rather well at the latter. She would not deliberately trip Vivienne up on Saturday, but she intended to say what occurred to her. Vivienne could interrupt her too. In fact, Vera invited her to try. For all her admiration of Vivienne's composure, she had quietly prepared three possible remarks about the blue dress. None now seemed fit to leave the house. The woman resisting a rehearsed silence had brought rehearsals of her own.
Three remarks offended Vivienne's sense of proportion. Vera had apparently intended to let her stand alone in the dock with a single turn. She answered the challenge directly: Vera looked very beautiful when trying not to look pleased with herself. Unfortunately for any argument against self-satisfaction, Vivienne liked her pleased as well. That compliment had occurred to her without preparation. She wanted Vera to keep the other remarks, to discover whether any survived an encounter with the dress. And Vera could speak before the turn was finished. Vivienne would risk being delighted halfway round. Having made that concession, she wanted the three remarks.
Vera gave her the first two. One concerned understanding why Vivienne had fought for the skirt. The other accused her, in advance, of making a punctual woman late. Apparently Vera had intended to assign blame before they had left the house. Beside the compliment she had just received, both sounded thin. The third was different: she wished she had asked Vivienne sooner. It had never really been about the blue. She had hoped to tuck the admission behind an observation about the hem and move briskly away from it. Now she asked Vivienne to keep looking at her, rather than at the dress.
Vivienne was looking. The third remark could remain exactly as it was. She would have said yes sooner, although Vera might have had to endure an appalling performance about checking her engagements. She was glad Vera had asked when she did. Still, it mattered to know that the wish had preceded the kiss; Vivienne had wondered whether the kiss had done all the persuading. She asked how much sooner, and insisted on a moment she could recognise. Given only a vague interval, she might invent something flattering. She wanted the actual occasion, the point at which Vera had wanted to ask.
Vera remembered Vivienne saying she would rather miss the entrance beside a woman enjoying herself than land it beside an invigilator. That had been the moment. Vivienne had been mildly offended with her and had still wanted her beside her; Vera had liked that more than being admired for knowing the record. The kiss had helped, certainly. It had not been the beginning. Then Vera returned to the engagements Vivienne might have pretended to check. Would she have wanted another question through the pretence, or would she have wanted Vera to risk coming round the table and discovering the empty page?