“Let’s have the ‘Lost Chord,’ Janet,” Mr Orgreave suggested.
There was a protesting chorus of “Oh, dad!”
“Very well! Very well!” the father murmured, acting humility. “I’m snubbed!”
Tom had now strolled across the room, smiling to himself, and looking at the carpet, in an effort to behave as one who had done nothing in particular.
“How d’ye do, Clayhanger?” He greeted Edwin, and grasped his hand in a feverish clutch. “You must excuse us. We aren’t used to audiences. That’s the worst of being rotten amateurs.”
Edwin rose. “Oh!” he deprecated. He had never spoken to Tom Orgreave before, but Tom seemed ready to treat him at once as an established acquaintance.
Then Alicia had to come forward and shake hands. She could not get a word out.
“Now, baby!” Charlie teased her.
She tossed her mane, and found refuge by her mother’s side. Mrs Orgreave caressed the mane into order.
“This is Miss Lessways. Hilda—Mr Edwin Clayhanger.” Janet drew the dark girl towards her as the latter hovered uncertainly in the middle of the room, her face forced into the look of elaborate negligence conventionally assumed by every self-respecting person who waits to be introduced. She took Edwin’s hand limply, and failed to meet his glance. Her features did not soften. Edwin was confirmed in the impression of her obdurate ugliness. He just noticed her olive skin and black eyes and hair. She was absolutely different in type from any of the Clayhangers. The next instant she and Charlie were talking together.