Doomsday by Warwick Deeping

The lady of Hill House danced, but she took care to see that all her guests had partners. She was an admirable hostess, beautifully gowned, moving with an air of languid serenity, pleasantly sure of herself. She had grown more like her sister, and it is possible that she had found in Clare social features that were of value and worthy of imitation. But she was dusky and a little mysterious where Clare was all pale gold and calmly vivid. Even when she employed sarcasm--and she had learnt to employ it--it suggested a red damask rose exuding a cold drop of dew from its petals. Her air of languor gave her time to set herself in a proper aspect to meet all happenings, yet a part of her languor was physical as well as mental. She had grown a little bored with life, but would not allow it, and to prove the fallaciousness of the feeling she created new extravagances.

Yet competition in Weyfleet had ceased, the kind of competition that the Freams provoked. Easily they were supreme in the matter of motor-cars and parties, and in all the pleasant pomps of the dinner-table, and the ballroom. Mary wore more dresses than any other woman in the place, and wore them more convincingly. All her details were worthy of consideration. When she went to Ranelagh, or Epsom, or Goodwood, other women gave her those quick, instant glances, and any enmity that was in them fell back baffled. Even at Ascot she was a noticeable woman. She had done her duty to her grandee.