“It is quite time for me to be going, Lady Fairfax. I wish you good-afternoon. Come, Frederick,” she called to her son, who was quaffing quantities of claret-cup, “I am ready,” and with a comprehensive bow she was sailing off, but was arrested by Sir Reginald, who, leaping to his feet, confronted her.
“Before you leave, madam, will you have the goodness to tell me who you think I am?”
With a most evil and significant smile she was turning away, and metaphorically proceeding to shake the dust off her feet, when he again detained her.
“I am Lady Fairfax’s husband!” he shouted. “What do you mean by your looks and innuendoes?”
“What is he saying, Frederick? I can’t hear a word.”
Reginald, turning to her son, with eyes ablaze and perfectly livid with passion, said to the electrified youth: “Be good enough to make your mother understand who I am; also make her clearly comprehend that neither Lady Fairfax nor myself have any further desire for her acquaintance. As for you”—with withering contempt—“I sincerely hope your curiosity has been gratified with regard to my wife’s appearance. That there may be no delay in your departure”—looking at the three culprits sternly—“I shall myself go and order your carriage.”
So saying, he took off his hat and walked away, leaving his visitors covered with amazement and confusion, Geoffrey in agonies of repressed laughter, and Miss Ferrars and Mrs. Mayhew in a state of mental coma.
When this tirade had been interpreted to Mrs. Blundell—she had heard a good deal more than she pretended—she returned across the grass, from where she was awaiting her carriage, and humbly accosting Alice, overwhelmed her with excuses and apologies which there was no avoiding. The worldly-wise old lady said to herself: “It will never do to quarrel with the Fairfaxes—people of great wealth and influence, if all is as it seems. Supposing her outrageous mistake was to get about, what capital for her fellow-gossips! At all costs she would leave on friendly terms, and be literally stone deaf to every snub.” Summoning a sweet smile to her discomfited countenance, she implored Alice to intercede with her husband: “He looks as if he could refuse you nothing. Do make my peace with him; do go and bring him to receive my most humble apologies. You must blame my unfortunate deafness, not me. I am not like other people, my dear young lady; I am afflicted, and I frequently get hold of wrong impressions, which is my great misfortune—not, I am sure you will allow, my fault. I did hear a little idle whisper that you were rather—a—rather—a——” casting wildly about for a delicate way of expressing herself, and becoming crimson in the attempt—“shall we say—fast young lady?”
“Certainly, if you like; and as long as I need not agree to the fact,” returned Alice with much composure.
“Well, and finding you entertaining three cavalry officers, all on a most familiar footing, and imagining that your husband was still absent, I just thought, as a much older married woman”—effusively—“I would give you a little hint by my manner.”