In the ensuing week Jack Ives was our constant companion; the continued illness of his servant’s mother left him stranded, and Dora’s kind heart at once offered him the hospitality of her roof. For my part I was glad, for the little drama which now began was not without its interest. It was a pleasant change to see Jack genially polite to Trix Queenborough, but quite indifferent to her presence or absence, and content to allow her to take Newhaven for her partner at tennis as often as she pleased. He himself was often an absentee from our games.
Mrs. Wentworth did not play, and Jack would sit under the trees with her, or take her out in the canoe. What Trix thought I did not know, but it is a fact that she treated poor Newhaven like dirt beneath her feet, and that Lady Queenborough’s face began to lose its transiently pleasant expression. I had a vague idea that a retribution was working itself out, and disposed myself to see the process with all the complacency induced by the spectacle of others receiving punishment for their sins.
A little scene which occurred after lunch one day was significant. I was sitting on the terrace, ready booted and breeched, waiting for my horse to be brought round. Trix came out and sat down by me.
“Where’s Newhaven?” I asked.
“Oh, I don’t always want Lord Newhaven,” she exclaimed petulantly; “I sent him off for a walk—I’m going out in the Canadian canoe with Mr. Ives.”
“Oh, you are, are you?” said I smiling. As I spoke, Jack Ives ran up to us.
“I say, Miss Queenborough,” he cried, “I’ve just got your message saying you’d let me take you on the lake.”
“Is it a great bore?” asked Trix, with a glance—a glance that meant mischief.
“I should like it awfully, of course,” said Jack; “but the fact is I’ve promised to take Mrs. Wentworth—before I got your message, you know.”
Trix drew herself up.