“I, at any rate, was sure Mr. Faradeane was not late,” said she, graciously.
“Then, as a reward, you shall be taken in by him,” said the squire, offering his arm to Mary. Bertie, the highest in rank, escorted Annie; and, Faradeane having Aunt Amelia, Olivia was left to Bartley Bradstone.
“This is a rough-and-scramble meal,” said the squire, as the butler lifted the cover from the fish, “but if you will perpetrate such follies as penny readings, you must pay the penalty.”
“My brother ridicules our humble efforts to amuse and instruct our brethren, Mr. Faradeane; but he is always doing good himself, which he never mentions.”
“Nor permits any one else to mention,” said the squire.
“‘Do not let your right hand know what your left hand doeth,’ as the man said who put a bad shilling in the collecting-box,” said Faradeane.
Annie and Mary almost started. Was this the mysterious stranger whose dark, contemptuous eyes had smitten them with awe? And could it be possible that his first words should be a frivolous jest? They began by being astonished, and continued so during the whole of the meal, for Mr. Faradeane, if he did not quite “set the table in a roar,” kept them all perpetually amused.
If it had not been so perfectly natural and free from the appearance of effort, it would almost have seemed as if he were playing the part of the wit with a purpose; but the musical voice was quite easy and unstrained, and the dark eyes were cloudless and unreserved. The squire glowed with sympathetic delight as epigram after epigram fell quite naturally from his guest, and Bertie’s eyes sparkled with fun as he laughed at the dry humor and happy repartee.
Only two persons seemed unmoved. One was Bartley Bradstone, who sat in half-sullen, half-envious silence, taking no part in the conversation beyond a monosyllabic response, and inwardly and palpably chafing at the success the newcomer was obviously making.
The other was Olivia. At first she had smiled with the rest, but presently she happened to glance round the épergne which stood between her and Mr. Faradeane, and at that instant she caught his face off its guard, as it were, and saw a strange sadness falling like a shadow on his eyes and hovering about his lips. It was gone in a moment, but its remembrance haunted her, and she knew that the wit and the humor and the light-heartedness were assumed, and magnificently assumed, to hide some secret sorrow.