“And that’s conclusive, you think?” said her mother.
“Pray may I inquire how you saw all this byplay?” asked her brother.
“I was sitting right behind them, and made good use of my eyes, as usual—that’s all.”
“Well,” responded the youth, pushing away his plate, “I don’t care who he is, but I should like to know who his tailor is. He was uncommonly well got up. I never saw a better-built coat,” he added with fervour.
“I expect the block had something to say to it. It might not look so well on shoulders like a champagne-bottle,” returned his sister, looking at him amiably.
Leaving them to the impending battle, we return to Monkswood, and find our friends also at luncheon.
“What disgraceful singing! I never heard a less unanimous choir; everyone for himself it seemed to me, time and tune being quite beneath notice,” remarked Geoffrey.
“It is splendid to what it used to be when I was a boy,” replied Sir Reginald; “we had a kind of orchestra composed of a fiddle and a flute.”
“Did any of you see me?” asked Alice, appealing to the company. “Every time I knelt down and leant forward the jet fringe on the jacket of the lady in front, who would sit bolt upright, became entangled in the feathers of my bonnet. At one time it threatened to be quite serious. I was afraid I should have had to have slipped off my bonnet and left it behind.”
“No, I did not remark you,” responded Geoffrey. “But did you see the old buffer with the white waistcoat exactly under the pulpit? Miss Ferrars has taken such a fancy to him. She never took her eyes off him, and whispered to me during the sermon, ‘That she would rather be an old man’s darling than a young man’s slave.’”