"The tandem whip, I suppose—hereditary feud and that sort of thing."
"It's not Miss Octon's fault; it's a shame to make her responsible."
"There doesn't seem to be any other reason."
He pulled his trim little fair mustache; I rather think that he blushed a little. "I don't like it, and I've a good mind to tell Eunice so. Miss Octon is Miss Driver's guest, just as we are, and on that ground anyhow entitled to civility."
I believe that he carried out his possibly chivalrous but certainly unwise purpose, and no doubt he got a snubbing for his pains. At any rate he had a short interview with Eunice just before we dined—and, afterwards, spoke to her no more that evening. While the fireworks blazed and the rockets roared, he placed himself between Jenny and Margaret. I managed to get near Margaret on the other side, just for the love of seeing the beauty of the girl's face as she watched the show with an intensity of excitement and delight. She clapped her hands, she laughed, she almost crowed in exultation. Once or twice she caught Lacey by the arm, as you see a child do with its father when the pleasure is really too much to hold all by itself. Jenny seemed to heed her very little—and to heed Amyas Lacey even less; she looked decidedly ruminative, gazing with a grave face at the spectacle, her clean-cut pallid profile standing out like a coin against the blaze of light. Amyas glanced at her now and again, but he was not proof against the living, exuberant, ebullient joy that bubbled and gurgled on his other side. Presently he abandoned himself altogether to the charm of it, fell under its sway, and became partaker of its mood. Now they were two children together, their shouts of laughter, of applause, of simulated alarm, filling the air. Grim looked the Aspenick ladies, very scornful that elegant gentleman Mr. Dormer! Margaret had never a thought for them; if Lacey had, he cast it away.
Thus they were when the show ended—but its ending did not check their talk and their laughter. Jenny rose, refreshments were spread within; to call Lacey's attention to her, she touched his shoulder. He turned round suddenly—with a start.
"Oh, I say, I beg your pardon! I—I didn't know you were still there, Miss Driver."
"There's something to eat indoors," said Jenny. "If you want it!"
"Oh, no, Jenny, dear, it's much nicer here. I'm sure Lord Lacey isn't hungry!"
He was not. Jenny turned away. As she passed me, she gave me an odd sort of smile, amused, satisfied, just a trifle—the least trifle—scornful. "Success number one!" she whispered. "But it's just as well that I'm not a vain woman, Austin!"