Part 37 (2/2)
The Chantrelles went on with d.i.c.k to Ivy Cottage. It was arranged that Masters should turn up there in the evening in time for dinner.
He had been a trifle reluctant to accept that invitation at d.i.c.k's hand, but did so. He could have kicked himself, later, for doing so. As for d.i.c.k, the nearer they drew to the point where separation must come, the more full of admiration and real affection he became. He rested uneasily whenever his friend was out of his sight.
Masters impatiently ticked off the hours till the arrival of dinner-time. He wanted so to see the woman he loved. Wanted a quiet ten minutes, that he might pour out his heart to her. He was willing to ask her forgiveness on his knees--had she not knelt to him? Had a heart-aching, a tongue-itching, to tell her that she was the one woman in the world for him.
Things are not always disposed as man proposes; he did not tell her that. The quiet ten minutes did not come. When he entered Ivy Cottage before dinner it was with a light heart, the happiest man in Wivernsea.
He left it after, with a heart of lead, the most miserable of men.
Beneath the surface, the dinner party was not a success; yet it cannot be said to have flagged. Almost every one was in good spirits, in too good spirits, apparently, to trouble about the quiet man who sat next to d.i.c.k.
d.i.c.k was thunderstruck at his friend's reticence. Thought at first that he must be, ridiculous as it seemed, suffering from shyness. Mrs.
Seton-Carr thought she was getting a little of her own back! She got more; more than all.
Common decency prevented her cutting Masters dead. But, as nearly as was consistent with common politeness, that was what happened. As fuel to fire was the open and violent flirtation of the hostess with Percy Chantrelle.
Exultant as she was of her success, flushed as was her cheek with triumph--she knew Masters was smarting--she feared that she almost overdid it. But the pulsations of Percy's heart were accelerated; beat fast with hope: so did his sister's.
It was impossible to avoid seeing Mrs. Seton-Carr's flushed excitement.
Masters noted too the soft glances she shot across the table Percy Chantrelle's way; noticed them with a feeling at his heart which was more than painful.
The author was in possession of more than his usual keenness. Perhaps it out-balanced his power of cool observation. Anyway, he saw not beneath the surface. The soundness of his deductions suffered by reason thereof.
They were happy enough, the brother and sister; the only real happiness there was around the table. Mabel was playing a part: playing it well; wore her mask with success. Her laugh rang out merrily at each of Chantrelle's jokes. But just as full as her face and voice were of mirth, so was her heart full of ache and pain.
Mrs. Seton-Carr would have given worlds just then to be able to rise from her table; she needed so greatly to go to her room for a good cry.
But a Lucifer-like pride upheld her. Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone. She knew that.
The men did not remain long in union after the retirement of the ladies.
To two-thirds of the trinity the cigars seemed flavourless. As a matter of fact, their respective elements lacked the power of combination.
The third factor, Chantrelle, was happy enough; triumph made him so. But there was no infection in his merriment. As a smoking-room raconteur he was usually a big success. But to-night his best stories fizzled out to lame and impotent conclusions.
The laugh of approval was conspicuously absent.
CHAPTER x.x.x
AS FAITHFUL AS A DOG
The men left the smoke-room; there was no calumet of peace there. All Percy's efforts to be entertaining ended in--perhaps appropriately--smoke. They joined the ladies, to find harmony and concord; music was under way.
Masters was full of thought; deep misery kind. Whatever charm music may have to soothe a savage breast, it had none for him. He was ever a failure at social functions: was conspicuously so to-night; detested them, in fact, with a whole-souled detestation.
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