Part 6 (1/2)

The two men looked up, and Molly looked down. Delight at her brother's return so filled her heart and mind that there was no room left for embarra.s.sment at the appearance of a stranger.

'O, Maulevrier, I am so glad! I have been pining for you. Why didn't you write to say you were coming? It would have been something to look forward to.'

'Couldn't. Never knew from day to day what I was going to be up to; besides, I knew I should find you at home.'

'Of course. We are always at home,' said Mary; 'go up to the house as fast as ever you can. I'll go and tell grandmother.'

'And tell them to get us some dinner,' said Maulevrier.

Mary's fluttering figure dipped and was gone, vanis.h.i.+ng in the dark labyrinth of shrubs. The two young men sauntered up to the house.

'We needn't hurry,' said Maulevrier to his companion, whom he had not taken the trouble to introduce to his sister. 'We shall have to wait for our dinner.'

'And we shall have to change our dusty clothes,' added the other; 'I hope that man will bring our portmanteaux in time.'

'Oh, we needn't dress. We can spend the evening in my den, if you like!'

Mary flew across the lawn again, and bounded up the steps of the verandah--a picturesque Swiss verandah which made a covered promenade in front of the house.

'Mary, may I ask the meaning of this excitement,' inquired her ladys.h.i.+p, as the breathless girl stood before her.

'Maulevrier has come home.'

'At last?'

'And he has brought a friend.'

'Indeed! He might have done me the honour to inquire if his friend's visit would be agreeable. What kind of person?'

'I have no idea. I didn't look at him. Maulevrier is looking so well.

They will be here in a minute. May I order dinner for them?'

'Of course, they must have dinner,' said her ladys.h.i.+p, resignedly, as if the whole thing were an infliction; and Mary ran out and interviewed the butler, begging that all things might be made particularly comfortable for the travellers. It was nine o'clock, and the servants were enjoying their eventide repose.

Having given her orders, Mary went back to the drawing-room, impatiently expectant of her brother's arrival, for which event Lesbia and her grandmother waited with perfect tranquillity, the dowager calmly continuing the perusal of her _Times_, while Lesbia sat at her piano in a shadowy corner, and played one of Mendelssohn's softest Lieder. To these dreamy strains Maulevrier and his friend presently entered.

'How d'ye do, grandmother? how do, Lesbia? This is my very good friend and Canadian travelling companion, Jack Hammond--Lady Maulevrier, Lady Lesbia.'

'Very glad to see you, Mr. Hammond,' said the dowager, in a tone so purely conventional that it might mean anything. 'Hammond? I ought to remember your family--the Hammonds of----'

'Of nowhere,' answered the stranger in the easiest tone; 'I spring from a race of n.o.bodies, of whose existence your ladys.h.i.+p is not likely to have heard.'

CHAPTER VI.

MAULEVRIER'S HUMBLE FRIEND.

That faint interest which Lady Lesbia had felt in the advent of a stranger dwindled to nothing after Mr. Hammond's frank avowal of his insignificance. At the very beginning of her career, with the world waiting to be conquered by her, a high-born beauty could not be expected to feel any interest in n.o.bodies. Lesbia shook hands with her brother, honoured the stranger with a stately bend of her beautiful throat, and then withdrew herself from their society altogether as it were, and began to explore her basket of crewels, at a distant table, by the soft light of a shaded lamp, while Maulevrier answered his grandmother's questions, and Mary stood watching him, hanging on his words, as if unconscious of any other presence.

Mr. Hammond went over to the window and looked out at the view. The moon was rising above the amphitheatre of hills, and her rays were silvering the placid bosom of the lake. Lights were dotted here and there about the valley, telling of village life. The Prince of Wales's hotel yonder sparkled with its many lights, like a castle in a fairy tale. The stranger had looked upon many a grander scene, but on none more lovely.