Part 34 (1/2)
”Yes. He's engaged! He met the Grangers on their tour round the world--you know them, the great cotton people?--at Sydney, and he's engaged to the youngest girl, Violet--you remember her? It all happened in a fortnight. Mary and Lord Eynesford are delighted. It's just perfect. She's very pretty, and tremendously well off. I do declare, I never thought d.i.c.k would end so well! What a happy thought it was sending him away! Aren't you delighted?”
”It sounds very nice, doesn't it? I don't think I knew her more than just to speak to.”
”d.i.c.k'll be here in four days. I've been looking for you to tell you for the last hour. Where have you been?”
”In the Park.”
”Alone, as usual, you hermit?”
”Well, I met the Medlands and Mr. Norburn, and talked to them for a little while.”
”Alicia! But it's no use talking to you. Come and find Mary.”
”No, Eleanor, I'm tired, and--and hot. I'll go to my room.”
”Oh, you must come and see her first.”
”I can't.”
”She'll be hurt, Alicia. She'll think you don't care. Come, dear.”
”Tell her--tell her I'm coming directly. Eleanor, you must let me go,”
and breaking away she fled into the house.
Eleanor went alone to seek Lady Eynesford. Somehow Alicia's words had quenched her high spirits for the moment.
”Poor child! I do hope she hasn't been foolish,” she mused. ”Surely after what Mary told her--! Oh dear, I'm afraid it isn't all as happy as it is about d.i.c.k!”
And then she indulged in some very cynical meditations on the advantages of being a person of shallow emotions and changeful fancies, until she was roused by the sight of Medland and Norburn walking up to the house, to attend the Executive Council. From the window she closely watched the Premier as he approached; her mood wavered to and fro, but at last she summed up her impressions by remarking,
”Well, I suppose one might.”
CHAPTER XXII.
THE STORY OF A PHOTOGRAPH.
Mr. c.o.xon may be forgiven for being, on this same important Monday, in a state of some nervous excitement. He had a severe attack of what are vulgarly called ”the fidgets,” and Sir John, who was spending the morning at the Club (for his court was not sitting), glanced at him over his eye-gla.s.ses with an irritated look. The ex-Attorney-General would not sit still, but flitted continually from window to table, and back from table to window, taking up and putting down journal after journal.
Much depended, in Mr. c.o.xon's view, on the event of that day, for Sir John spoke openly of his approaching retirement, and an appointment sometimes thought worthy of a Premier's acceptance might be in c.o.xon's grasp before many weeks were past, if only Medland and his noxious idea of getting a first-cla.s.s man out from England could be swept together into limbo.
”What's the betting about to-night?” asked the Chief Justice, as in one of his restless turns the brooding politician pa.s.sed near.
”We reckon to beat him by five,” answered c.o.xon.
”Unless any of your men turn tail, that is? I hear Fenton's very wobbly--says he daren't show his face in the North-east Ward if he throws Medland over.”
”Oh, he's all right.”