Mollie found herself with Beatrix, who, as she told her mother afterwards, was very sweet to her, not allowing her to feel out of it, though there were so many people there, and she was the least important of all of them. She was not alone with Beatrix however. Bertie Pemberton stuck close to them, and took the leading part in the conversation, though Beatrix did her share, with a dexterous unflustered ability which Mollie, who said very little, could not but admire. She judged Bertie Pemberton to be immensely struck with Beatrix, and did not wonder at it. She herself was beginning to have that enthusiastic admiration for her which generous girls accord to others more beautiful and more gifted than themselves. Everything about Beatrix pleased her—her lovely face and delicious colouring, the grace of her young form, the way she did her hair, the way she wore her pretty clothes. And she was as 'nice' as she was beautiful, with no affectations about her, and no 'airs,' which she very well might have given herself, considering how richly she was endowed by nature and circumstance. That Bertie Pemberton seemed to admire her in much the same way as Mollie herself disposed her to like him, though her liking was somewhat touched with awe, for he was of the sort of young man whom Mollie in her retired life had looked upon as of a superior order, with ways that would be difficult to cope with if chance should ever bring one of them into her own orbit. He was, in fact, a good-natured young man, employed temporarily with stocks and shares until he should succeed to the paternal acres, of the pattern of other young men who had received a conventionally expensive education and gained a large circle of acquaintances thereby, if no abiding interest in the classical studies which had formed its basis. He seemed to be well satisfied with himself, and indeed there was no reason why he should not have been, since so far there had been little that he had wanted in life which he had not obtained. If he should chance to want Beatrix in the near future, which Mollie, looking forward as she listened and observed, thought not unlikely, there might be some obstacles to surmount, but at this stage there was nothing to daunt him. He handled the situation in the way dictated by his temperament and experience, kept up a free flow of good-humoured chaff, and under cover of it expressed admiration that had to be fenced with, but never went beyond the point at which it would have been necessary for his satisfaction that a third party should not have been present. As Beatrix, with her arm in Mollie's, took pains to include her in the conversation, he couldn't ignore Mollie; nor did he appear to wish to do so. She was a pretty girl too, and he was only using his ordinary methods with a pretty girl. If she would have found a difficulty in fencing with him in the manner he would have expected of her had they been alone together, she was spared the exercise, as Beatrix lightly took her defence on her own shoulders.
As Bertie Pemberton did not lower his voice below the family pitch, Mollie was a little anxious lest some of his speeches should come to the ear of the Vicar, who was not far removed from them as they started on their tour of investigation. He seemed, however, to have found an unexpected satisfaction in the society of Mrs. Pemberton, on whom he was in close attendance, with a back the contour of which expressed deference. She appeared to be giving him advice upon certain matters in connection with his own parish, and drawing upon his sympathy in matters connected with her own. Just before Bertie Pemberton managed to let the rest of the party get a room or two ahead, by showing great interest in the old books with which the library was furnished, Mollie heard her say to him in her carrying voice: "Well, you must come over and see it for yourself. I don't know why we've never met you; but Abington is rather beyond our beat, unless there's something or somebody to come for. It's such a pleasure to meet a sensible clergyman. I wish there were more of them."
Mollie was glad that her friend had impressed the loud-speaking rather formidable lady in this way, but was inclined to wonder what he would do with the invitation, for he knew what he thought of the Pembertons; and he had so often announced that he would have nothing whatever to do with such people, and was glad that they were so far away. She had heard the story of Bertie Pemberton's rudeness to him, but saw now how it might have been. Bertie's free manner might easily be taken for rudeness by somebody who did not know him. No doubt there had been 'faults on both sides.' She hoped that the Vicar's objections to the Pemberton family would not lead him to refuse them another chance. If there was no more harm in the Pemberton girls than there apparently was in their brother he would find that he had misjudged them.
The Pemberton girls—Nora, Effie and Kate—were cut out of the corresponding female pattern to their brother's. They were good-natured and well satisfied with themselves. But their self-satisfaction did not prevent them from taking a lively interest in other people, and their good-nature made them known to a large circle of acquaintances as 'good pals.' This reputation, though leading to much pleasant intercourse with members of either sex, is not the most favourable to matrimonial adjustments, and the youngest of them had already reached the middle twenties. But the shadow of spinsterhood had hardly yet begun to throw itself across their breezy path. With their horses and their golf, their visits to other country houses and sometimes to London, their father's large house, seldom entirely without guests in it, and above all their always increasing friendships, they had all that they wanted at present. Out of all their 'pals' there would be some day one for each of them in whose company they would continue the lives that they now found so pleasant. Almost anybody would do, if he was a good pal and had enough money. Falling in love was outside their beat. But it was probable that if one of them ever did fall in love, the other two would follow her suit. They were human enough in their primitive instincts.
Barbara accompanied Nora and Kate. She took a keen interest in them as types new to her, and they thought her a bright and modest child whose tastes for a country life were worth cultivating. "You must hack about as much as you can till next season, and get used to it," said Kate. "Then we'll take you out cubbing, and by the time regular hunting begins you ought to be able to sit as tight as any of us. It isn't a tiptop country, but you can get a lot of fun out of it."
"Better than jogging about in the Park, anyhow," said Nora. "I wouldn't live in London if you paid me."
Effie Pemberton and Bertie's friend Francis Parry were conducted by Caroline. Francis was of the same type as Bertie—smooth-haired, well-dressed and self-confident, but on a quieter plane. He had been one of Caroline's regular dancing partners, had dined sometimes at the house in London, and stayed sometimes in the same houses in the country. She liked him, and had found him more interesting than most of the young men in whose company she had disported herself. He had tastes somewhat similar to hers, and it was a pleasure to point out to him what she had done to the house, and to receive his commendation. Effie Pemberton, who would much rather have been looking over the stables, found herself rather de trop, and presently allied herself to Worthing, to whom she said with a jerk of the thumb: "I think it's a case there."
But it was not a case, at least as far as Caroline was concerned.