Part 47 (1/2)

Oh, lucky, sweetly-perfumed, pale white rose! Oh, fortunate, kindly, tender manner! You little guess your influence over the future.

Old Mr. Amherst, who has been watching Molly from afar, now comes grumbling toward her and leads Mr. Buscarlet away.

”Grandpa is in a bad temper,” says Marcia, generally, when they have quite gone.

”No, you don't say so? What a remarkable occurrence!” exclaims Cecil.

”Now, what _can_ have happened to ruffle so serene a nature as his?”

”I didn't notice it; I was making a fresh and more lengthened examination of his features. Yet, I still adhere to my original conviction: his nose is his strong point.” Mr. Potts says this as one would who had given to the subject years of mature study.

”It _is_ thin,” says Lady Stafford.

”It is. Considering his antiquity, his features are really quite handsome. But his nose--his nose,” says Mr. Potts, ”is especially fine.

That's a joke: do you see it? Fine! Why, it is sharper than an awl.

'Score two on the shovel for that, Mary Ann.'”

For want of something better to do, they all laugh at Mr. Potts's rather lame sally. Even Mr. Longshanks so far forgets himself and his allegiance to his friend as to say ”Ha-ha-ha!” out loud--a proceeding so totally unexpected on the part of Longshanks that they all laugh again, this time the more heartily that they cannot well explain the cause of their merriment.

Captain Mottie is justly vexed. The friend of his soul has turned traitor, and actually expended a valuable laugh upon an outsider.

Mrs. Darley, seeing his vexation, says, quietly, ”I do not think it is good form, or even kind, to speak so of poor Mr. Amherst behind his back. I cannot bear to hear him abused.”

”It is only his nose, dear,” says Cecil; ”and even you cannot call it fat without belying your conscience.”

Mrs. Darley accepts the apology, and goes back to her mild flirtation.

”How silly that woman is!” Cecil says, somewhat indignantly. She and Molly and one or two of the men are rather apart. ”To hear her going in for simple sentiments is quite too much for me. When one looks at her, one cannot help----” She pauses, and taps her foot upon the ground, impatiently.

”She is rather pretty,” says Lowry, glancing carelessly at the powdered doll's face, with its wealth of dyed hair.

”There was a young lady named Maud,”

says Sir Penthony, addressing his toes,

”Who had recently come from abroad, Her bloom and her curls, Which astonished the girls, Were both an ingenious fraud.

”Ah! here is Tedcastle coming across to us.”

Tedcastle, with the boy Darley mounted high on his shoulder, comes leisurely over the lawn and up the steps.

”There, my little man, now you may run to your mother,” he says to the child, who shows a morbid dislike to leave his side (all children adore Luttrell). ”What! not tired of me yet? Well, stay, then.”

”Tea, Tedcastle?”

”No, thank you.”

”Let me get you some more, Miss Ma.s.sereene,” says Plantagenet. ”You came late, and have been neglected.”

”I think I will take a very little more. But,” says Molly, who is in a tender mood, ”you have been going about on duty all the evening. I will ask Mr. Luttrell to get me some this time, if he will be so kind.” She accompanies this with a glance that sets Luttrell's fond heart beating.