If Gaston Arbuthnot ever in his life was an actor in a similar bit of drawing-room comedy, you may be sure the rôle chosen by him had been the one now played by Lord Rex. Some other fellow-mortal in a blouse, and with clay-stained hands, may have watched from the slips. It was Gaston who counted the stitches!
He was not cut out by Nature to take subordinate parts; and this his first little taste of abdicated power had a singularly insipid flavour to his palate.
CHAPTER XVIII HOW DINAH SAID ‘YES’
Rex Basire, meanwhile, counted manfully on. A hundred-and-ten from the corner scroll to the first line of blue; and seventy-six, either way, of grounding. Emboldened by success, he insisted upon filling in the yellow heart of a single forget-me-not. ‘Just as a souvenir!’ he pleaded, contriving to get through the task cleverly enough. A twelvemonth hence, when half the world lay between them, he thought Mrs. Arbuthnot might look at the centre of this forget-me-not, and remember to-day!
‘I shall remember a length of filoselle wasted. Your lordship’s stitches must be picked out at once—they are worked the wrong way of the silk.’ Taking back the needle and canvas, Dinah began to put her threat into instant execution. ‘A twelvemonth hence,’ she added, ‘I hope to be looking at something more interesting than wool-work. Most of my pieces get stored away, for no one in particular. This ottoman is for my Aunt Susan in Cambridgeshire. It will be a great set-off to her front parlour,’—Dinah admitted this with a tinge of artist’s pride; ‘but I am not likely to see it there. We have not been to Cheriton for four years, and——’
‘Happy Aunt Susan!’ exclaimed Lord Rex, who was wont to be a little impudent without awakening anger. ‘What would I give to have—not an ottoman for my front parlour—but something modest, a kettle-holder with an appropriate motto, say, worked for me by fair and charitable fingers!’
‘By your favourite sister’s, perhaps.’
Dinah’s voice was cold and clear as ice as she offered the suggestion.