"They'll pair off well enough," continued the reckless young baronet, oblivious of the reddening rims round Sybella's eyes. "What—you would rather keep the list as it is—not strike out Lady Lucas? You didn't read Admiral Grice's name?—Look—at the top. He'll take you in, of course; and I thought you would like that, to escape Mr. Trevelyan. He's a jolly old fellow, and there's nothing he likes better than discussing his gout, so you and he will get on famously. I must undertake Lady Lucas, and if only we stumble on everybody's relationships, it's smooth sailing for an hour. The old lady is sure to be serene, retailing her decent from Japhet. It will be almost a family dinner-party, and the talk is likely to become general. That's what—Eh?"
Sybella gasped incoherently.
"That's what I want. Aunt, mind you don't put an enormous block of greens on the table, so that nobody can see anybody. Just streak things about on the table-cloth somehow. Evelyn will give you a hint. Then I've bracketed Mr. Trevelyan with Mrs. Trevelyan, and Cuthbert with Evelyn. I suppose Jem Trevelyan really ought to have Evelyn, in virtue of his new dignities; but he is the last fellow to mind, and I want to see him get a rise out of Miss Moggridge. It's famous when she flips her bread into little bits, and whisks her table-napkin off her knees, in defence of women's rights. And Mr. Byng is left to Jean. He will chatter nineteen to the dozen, and Jean will look like a martyr. But—" hopefully—"if you wouldn't mind dropping out those two, it's easy enough to rearrange. I'll take Mrs. Trevelyan, and—"
"So very uncomfortable!" sobbed Sybella, feeling herself dethroned; and much as she disliked the troubles and responsibilities of office, she by no means disliked its dignities.
"Uncomfortable! I don't see why! Really I don't understand what you have to cry about. You can't surely expect me never to ask my friends to The Brow. That would be rather hard lines!"
Sybella wept lugubriously.
"Don't you see? I've waited till now, but people will expect a difference. I'm glad enough that you should have your cronies as often as you like—any number of them—why, I've thrown a couple in, purely on your account. Only I must have my turn."
"To ask Mr. Trevelyan to dinner! And after all these years! Never once since my dear aunt—! And with his views!" wailed Sybella.
"And I don't see how one's to ask him without his views!" murmured Cyril. Then aloud, "That's the very thing! I would have asked him to dinner hundreds of times, but I knew you wouldn't consent so long as you had the responsibility, you know. So I just had to wait . . . It's no good discussing his views with you, because you go by what Colonel Atherstone says, while I know the man himself. If you really knew Mr. Trevelyan, you couldn't help feeling differently . . . As for Jem Trevelyan, the more we can see of him, the better. He's a first-rate fellow—every way! . . . But I don't want to bother you—" in a tone of relenting which brought one gleam of hope to Sybella's breast. "If you dislike the thing so much, and would rather make some other arrangement for yourself for that evening, it is quite easy. Evelyn would come and head my table. There's no real difficulty."
"My table" settled the matter.