XI
NONE of the ladies relaxed at Vernon’s approach, Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop least of all. On the contrary she seemed to swell into proportions that were colossal and terrifying, and when Vernon came within her sphere of influence his manner at once subdued itself into an apology.
“Why, Amelia—Mrs. Hodge-Lathrop!” he cried, “and Mrs. Standish, Mrs. Barbourton, Mrs. Trales, Mrs. Langdon—how do you do?”
He went, of course, straight to Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop’s side, the side that sheltered Amelia, and he tried to take the hands of both women at once. Amelia gave him hers coldly, without a word and without a look. He grew weak, inane, and laughed uneasily.
“Delightful morning,” he said, “this country air down here is—”
“Morley,” said Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop, severely, “take that seat at the foot of the table.”
He obeyed, meekly. The ladies, he thought, from the rustle of their skirts, withdrew themselves subtly. The only glances they vouchsafed him were side-long and disapproving. He found it impossible to speak, and so waited. He could not recall having experienced similar sensations since those menacing occasions of boyhood when he had been sent to the library to await his father’s coming.
“Delightful morning, indeed!” Mrs. Overman Hodge-Lathrop said, in her most select tones. “Delightful morning to bring us poor old ladies down into the country!”
“I bring you down!” ejaculated Vernon.
“Morley,” she said, “I don’t wish to have one word from you, not one; do you understand? Your talent for speech has caused trouble enough as it is. Lucky we shall be if we can undo the half of it!”