“The interest you take in Lady Fairfax is most gratifying to the whole family. No, he is not her cousin, he is her husband.”
“Not her cousin, not her husband! You need not tell me that; of course I know that,” with insolent emphasis.
What was to be done with this terrible old woman, on whom her friend’s signs and nudges were entirely thrown away?
At this instant, the game over, Alice, flushed and breathless, joined the group.
“I won, Geoff; only—fancy—that,” she said, laying her hands on his shoulders in the excitement of her recent victory.
“Then, I suppose, there will be no living in the same house with you for the next week,” remarked her cousin, moving so as to make room for her beside him on the grass.
She looked utterly fagged and exhausted; her frail delicate appearance struck her husband forcibly, and for the first time he sprang up, dragged forward a garden-chair, and, taking her by the arm, pushed her into it with an air of loverlike solicitude—by no means lost on Mrs. Blundell—that had been foreign to his manner for many a long day.
“Thank you, Reginald,” said Alice, sinking back into the seat with a sigh of relief and removing her hat. “To reward you for your politeness you shall have a little bit of my dress to sit on,” spreading out the folds of her skirt.
“This is really too barefaced,” cried Mrs. Blundell in one of her very loudest asides.
Then, getting up and extending her hand very stiffly to Alice, she said in a most pointed unmistakable manner: