Part 17 (1/2)

”And to bury 'em decently.”

”Which is more than Master Bence deserves.”

They were all laughing heartily and happily, all talking at once, gesticulating, pantomiming. Even old Mears beat upon the table with a fork to express his satisfaction, and his agreement with the general feeling.

All the tongues were untied by the seasonable facetiousness of Mr.

Marsden. The hostess flashed a grateful glance at him; but he was not looking in her direction. He was courteously listening to Mr. Prentice, who had lowered his voice now that things had begun to go of their own accord.

And things continued to go well for the rest of the dinner. The name of Bence had acted like a charm; they all could find something to say about the hated and unworthy rival, and their hitherto frozen tongues now wagged unceasingly.

”Did you ever see such wretched little starveling girls as he puts into the bazaar at Christmas?”

”It's a disgrace to the town, importing such waifs and strays.”

”They tell me he gets 'em out of a place in Whitechapel--and they're in charge of a couple of detectives all the time.”

”Yes, you bet. Two upon ten, or the poor little beggars would prig his gimcracks as fast as he put them out.”

”I don't vouch for it--but I believe it myself: they had three cases of pocket-picking in an hour. And it was one of his shop-girls who done it.”

”That's a nice way of doing business! 'Step this way, miss, and look at our twopenny 'a'penny toys'--and pick the customer's pocket as you are serving her.”

While they talked so cheerily and pleasantly Mrs. Thompson several times glanced down the table at her youngest manager. She need not have dreaded the meeting. He had made it quite easy for her. He had proved that he possessed the instincts of a true gentleman--not a make-believe gentleman; he had displayed consideration, tact, good breeding; and by his ready wit he had come to her aid and dissipated the dullness of her guests. She sat smiling and nodding in the midst of their lively chatter, and looked at Mr. Marsden's strong, clear-cut profile. It seemed to her statuesque, n.o.ble, magnificent; and it did not once change into a full face during all the time she watched it.

Now the guests had eaten their dessert, and the hired waiters had gone from the room. The moment had come for the toast.

”Gentlemen,” said Mr. Prentice, ”fill your gla.s.ses and drink a health. I give you two people rolled into one--that is, the best Man of business in Mallingbridge and Mrs. Thompson.... Mrs. Thompson!”

”Now, all together,” said Mr. Ridgway; and he began to sing. ”'For _she_'s a jolly good fel-low'”....

”Please, please,” said Mrs. Thompson, getting up from her chair, and stopping the chorus. ”No musical honours, _please_.... Gentlemen, I thank you.... And now my daughter and I will leave you to your coffee and cigars.”

Then she followed Enid to the door, and turned on the threshold.

”Mr. Prentice, don't let our guests want for anything.... Yates has put the cigars on the side-table.”

In the other room Enid walked over to the piano, and, without uttering a word, began to play.

”After all,” said Mrs. Thompson, with a sigh of relief, ”it didn't go off so badly.”

”No,” said Enid, looking at her fingers as they slowly struck the notes, ”I suppose not.”

”What is it you are playing?” Mrs. Thompson asked the question abruptly.

”Chopin.”

”Can't you play anything gayer? That's so sad.”

”Is it?... I don't feel very gay.”