Volume II Part 15 (2/2)
”I never enjoyed anything so much in my life, never,” protested Lord Mallow.
”Well, to-morrow we can shoot the pheasants. It will be a rest for us after this.”
”It will be dull work after the enchantments of to-day,” said the Irishman.
Captain Winstanley rode homewards a few paces in the rear of the other two, smiling to himself grimly, and humming a little song of Heine's:
”Es ist eine alte Geschichte, Doch bleibt sie immer neu.”
CHAPTER XI.
Rorie objects to Duets.
Mrs. Winstanley's little dinner went off smoothly and pleasantly, as all such entertainments had done under the new _regime_. The Captain knew how to select his guests, as well as he knew how to compose a _menu_. People felt pleased with themselves and with their neighbours at his table. There was nothing heavy in the dinner or in the conversation; there were no long sittings over old port or particular claret. The wines were of the first quality; but there was no fuss made about them. Colonel Carteret remembered how he and the Squire had sat prosing over their port or Chateau Lafitte, and felt as if he were living in a new world--a world in which full-blooded friends.h.i.+p and boisterous hospitality were out of fas.h.i.+on. People whose talk had hitherto been intensely local--confined, for the most part to petty sessions, commoners' rights, hunting, and the parish church and schools--found themselves discussing the widest range of topics, from the prospect of a European war--that European war which has been impending more or less distinctly for the last twenty years--to the latest social scandal in the upper currents of London society. Captain and Mrs. Winstanley's country friends, inspired by one or two clever young men just imported from the London clubs, were surprised to discover how well they were able to criticise the latest productions in literature, art, and the drama; the newest results of scientific investigation; or the last record of African or Central Asian exploration. It was quite delightful to quiet country people, who went to London on an average once in three years, to find themselves talking so easily about the last famous picture, the latest action for libel in artistic circles, or the promised adaptation of Sardou's last comedy at a West End theatre, just as glibly as if they knew all about art, and had read every play of Sardou's.
Roderick Vawdrey enjoyed himself wonderfully at this particular dinner-party, so long as the dinner lasted; for Captain Winstanley, by an oversight which made him inwardly savage all dinner-time, had placed Mr. Vawdrey and Miss Tempest side by side. There had been some confusion in his mind as he finished his plan of the table; his attention having been called away at the last moment, or this thing could not have happened--for nothing was farther from Captain Winstanley's intention than that Violet and her old playfellow should be happy in each other's society. And there they sat, smiling and sparkling at each other in the exuberance of youth and high spirits, interchanging little confidential remarks that were doubtless to the disparagement of some person or persons in the a.s.sembly. If dark electric glances shot from the covert of bent brows could have slain those two happy triflers, a.s.suredly neither of them would have lived to the end of that dinner.
”How do you like him?” asked Rorie, stooping to sniff at the big Marechal Niel bud, in the specimen gla.s.s by his plate.
”Whom?”
”The man who has Bullfinch.”
Lord Mallow was in the place of honour next his hostess. Involuntarily Violet glanced in that direction, and was startled to find the Irishman's good-humoured gaze meeting hers, just as if he had been watching her for the last half-hour.
”How do I like him? Well, he seems very good-natured.”
”Seems good-natured. You ought to be able to give me a more definite answer by this time. You have lived in the same house with him--let me see, is it three or four days since he came?”
”He has been here nearly a week.”
”A week! Why then you must know him as well as if he were your brother.
There is no man living who could keep himself dark for a week. No; I don't believe the most inscrutable of men, born and bred in diplomatic circles, could keep the secret of a solitary failing from the eyes of those who live under the same roof with him for seven days. It would leak out somehow--if not at breakfast, at dinner. Man is a communicative animal, and so loves talking of himself that if he has committed murder he must tell somebody about it sooner or later. And as to that man,” continued Rorie, with a contemptuous glance at the single-minded Lord Mallow, ”he is a creature whom the merest beginner in the study of humanity would know by heart in half-an-hour.”
”What do you know about him?” asked Vixen laughing. ”You have had more than half-an-hour for the study of his character.”
”I know ever so much more than I want to know.”
”Answered like a Greek oracle.”
”What, have you taken to reading Greek?”
”No; but I know the oracles were a provoking set of creatures who answered every inquiry with an enigma. But I won't have you abuse Lord Mallow. He has been very kind to Bullfinch, and has promised me that he will never part with him. The dear old horse is to have a comfortable stable and kindly treatment to his dying day--not to be sent out to gra.s.s in his old age, to s.h.i.+ver in a dreary solitude, or to be scorched by the sun and tormented by the flies.”
”He has promised all that, has he? He would promise a good deal more, I daresay,” muttered Rorie, stooping over his rosebud. ”Do you think him handsome? Do women admire a fresh complexion and black whiskers, and that unmistakable air of a hairdresser's wax model endowed with animation?”
”I see you consider him an idiot,” said Vixen laughing. ”But I a.s.sure you he is rather clever. He talks wonderfully about Ireland, and the reforms he is going to bring about for her.”
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