“But his lack of experience, sir,” Mervyn interpolated with lifted eye-brows, “the very rank and file comment on it. They call him ‘the hinfant,’ and ‘the babby ensign’!”
Captain Howard flushed scarlet.
“They are mighty careful that it doesn’t reach his ears,” he said, sternly. “Ensign Raymond knows how to maintain his dignity as well as any man twice his age I ever saw.”
“Oh, papa, he does!” cried Arabella, eagerly corroborative. “I often notice when he is serious how noble and thoughtful he looks.”
Mrs. Annandale was not near enough to give her niece a warning pinch; from such admonitions against girlish candor Miss Howard’s delicate arm sometimes showed blue tokens. Like Mervyn, but with a different intent, the schemer tried to catch the young lady’s eye. Now she felt she could no longer contain her displeasure, and her anxiety lest the matter go further than prudence might warrant impaired her judgment.
“Dear me, Arabella,” she said, with an icy inflection, “one would think you are in love with the man.”
The obvious response for any girl was, in her opinion, a confused denial, and this necessity would warn Arabella how far in the heat of argument she was going.
To Mrs. Annandale’s astonishment Arabella softly laid the tambour-frame on her knee as if better to contemplate the suggestion. She held the needle motionless for an instant, her eyes on the fire, and suddenly she said as if to herself:—
“Sometimes I, too, think I am in love with him.”
Mervyn shot a furious glance at her, but she had hardly looked at him all the evening, and she now continued blandly unaware. If Captain Howard marked what she had said it must have seemed a jest, for he went on, magnifying Raymond’s capacity to take care of himself and to bring his detachment safely home.