Despairingly, "But what shall I do?" Bernard wailed.
"Go to hell!" bawled the exasperated voice from within.
"But the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury is there to-night." Bernard was almost in tears.
"Ai yaa takwa!"
It was only in Zuni that the Savage could adequately express what he felt about the Arch-Community-Songster.
"Hani!" he added as an after-thought; and then (with what derisive ferocity!): "Sons eso tse-na."
And he spat on the ground, as Pope might have done.
In the end Bernard had to slink back, diminished, to his rooms and inform the impatient assembly that the Savage would not be appearing that evening.
The news was received with indignation.
The men were furious at having been tricked into behaving politely to this insignificant fellow with the unsavoury reputation and the heretical opinions.
The higher their position in the hierarchy, the deeper their resentment.
"To play such a joke on me," the Arch-Songster kept repeating, "on me!"
As for the women, they indignantly felt that they had been had on false pretences-had by a wretched little man who had had alcohol poured into his bottle by mistake-by a creature with a Gamma-Minus physique.
It was an outrage, and they said so, more and more loudly.
The Head Mistress of Eton was particularly scathing.
Lenina alone said nothing.
Pale, her blue eyes clouded with an unwonted melancholy, she sat in a corner, cut off from those who surrounded her by an emotion which they did not share.
She had come to the party filled with a strange feeling of anxious exultation.
"In a few minutes," she had said to herself, as she entered the room, "I shall be seeing him, talking to him, telling him" (for she had come with her mind made up) "that I like him-more than anybody I've ever known.
And then perhaps he'll say ..."
What would he say?
The blood had rushed to her cheeks.
"Why was he so strange the other night, after the feelies?
So queer.
And yet I'm absolutely sure he really does rather like me.
I'm sure ..."
It was at this moment that Bernard had made his announcement; the Savage wasn't coming to the party.
Lenina suddenly felt all the sensations normally experienced at the beginning of a Violent Passion Surrogate treatment-a sense of dreadful emptiness, a breathless apprehension, a nausea.
Her heart seemed to stop beating.
"Perhaps it's because he doesn't like me," she said to herself.
And at once this possibility became an established certainty: John had refused to come because he didn't like her.
He didn't like her. ...
"It really is a bit too thick," the Head Mistress of Eton was saying to the Director of Crematoria and Phosphorus Reclamation.
"When I think that I actually ..."
"Yes," came the voice of Fanny Crowne, "it's absolutely true about the alcohol.
Some one I know knew some one who was working in the Embryo Store at the time.
She said to my friend, and my friend said to me ..."
"Too bad, too bad," said Henry Foster, sympathizing with the Arch-Community-Songster.
"It may interest you to know that our ex-Director was on the point of transferring him to Iceland."
Pierced by every word that was spoken, the tight balloon of Bernard's happy self-confidence was leaking from a thousand wounds.
Pale, distraught, abject and agitated, he moved among his guests, stammering incoherent apologies, assuring them that next time the Savage would certainly be there, begging them to sit down and take a carotene sandwich, a slice of vitamin A pate, a glass of champagne-surrogate.
They duly ate, but ignored him; drank and were either rude to his face or talked to one another about him, loudly and offensively, as though he had not been there.
"And now, my friends," said the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury, in that beautiful ringing voice with which he led the proceedings at Ford's Day Celebrations, "Now, my friends, I think perhaps the time has come ..." He rose, put down his glass, brushed from his purple viscose waistcoat the crumbs of a considerable collation, and walked towards the door.
Bernard darted forward to intercept him.
"Must you really, Arch-Songster? ...
It's very early still. I'd hoped you would ..."
Yes, what hadn't he hoped, when Lenina confidentially told him that the Arch-Community-Songster would accept an invitation if it were sent.
"He's really rather sweet, you know."
And she had shown Bernard the little golden zipper-fastening in the form of a T which the Arch-Songster had given her as a memento of the week-end she had spent at Lambeth.
To meet the Arch-Community-Songster of Canterbury and Mr. Savage. Bernard had proclaimed his triumph on every invitation card.